


Joined at the Hip

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingering, Frottage, M/M, Matchmaking, Mutual Masturbation, Omegaverse, Oral, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Romance, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock love each other deeply… and platonically. The problem is that they both have needs the other can’t meet. Queue a chance to fix each other up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaeh/gifts).



 

SUMMARY: John and Sherlock love each other deeply… and platonically. The problem is that they both have needs the other can’t meet. Queue a chance to fix each other up.

WARNINGS: OMEGAVERSE, M/M, M/F, Shirene, Johnstrade, Mutual Masturbation, Frotting, Oral, Anal, Vaginal, Fingering, Rimming, Cunnilingus, BDSM (Shirene), Sexual Exploration (Johnstrade).  
  
Dedicated to Scribblesonapage. <3

CHAPTER 1 below  


[CHAPTER 2](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/170071.html)

[CHAPTER 3](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/170376.html)

[CHAPTER 4  
](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/170977.html)

[CHAPTER 5  
](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/171159.html)

[CHAPTER 6  
](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/171557.html)

[CHAPTER 7 & EPILOGUE](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/171945.html)

John hadn’t figured it out yet. Sherlock realized that when he brought the fifth girlfriend home and Sherlock had to chase her off _again_. He’d been fine with John dating at first, but then they’d gotten closer and it became a matter of importance to Sherlock that John end up with the _right_ woman. The right woman had to- first and foremost- not come between them. She also needed to provide John with a decent amount of sex as it was _constantly_ on his mind. And the caveat of it all was she had to not _annoy the fuck_ out of Sherlock. That last one was surprisingly difficult to manage. 

Case and point the current _waste of space_ in front of him. Even John’s eyes were starting to glass over from her inane babble. He wasn’t nearly good enough for him, even assuming John wasn’t overly caring of the IQ of his bedmates. He was, though. He loved how smart John was so a _complete_ moron was out of the question. An average intelligence would do. This current specimen of sub-par human breeding, which hadn’t recovered from the padded lifestyle that spurned survival of the fittest, was so far below average intelligence that Sherlock wouldn’t have been surprised to see her forget how to breathe and suffocate where she sat in her chair. 

“I know, right?!” She exclaimed happily upon seeing his pleased smile and misinterpreting his fond thoughts about her death. 

“John,” Sherlock interrupted when his flatmate gave him a pleading look, “Where _did_ you find this one? She’s absolutely _horrifying_. I fear for the human race.”

“What?” She asked, looking stricken.

“Sherlock,” John warned, even as he noticeably relaxed. His disaster of a date would be over soon. 

“Oh please John, even you can’t be interested in this insipid _thing_. I hesitate to use the word _woman_ as it offends my feminist heart that such a useless waste of flesh would be part of a gender that is still struggling for equality in most parts of the world.”

“Fuck’s sake, Sherlock,” John gaped as they headed out of the restaurant and Sherlock hailed a cab, “Yeah, I wanted her gone, but did you have to be so…”

“Honest?”

“Brutal, is more like. Fuck’s sake, she ran out of there _crying_.”

“I’m sick of this, John,” Sherlock rounded on him angrily, “When will you _learn?!_ ”

“Learn what?” John asked. 

“Not to date women we’re entirely unsuitable for!”

“We? _We_? It’s not like I _invited_ you, you just showed up! This was _my_ date! You think I’m going to share my girlfriends like… like… my laptop?!”

“You don’t share your laptop. I confiscate it. Mostly to make sure you haven’t gotten viruses watching all that porn.”

“For the love of…”

“Look. You need a woman to have sex with. That’s fine. I’m fine with that, but you’ve got to _think_ , John! She must be compatible with us both! If you’d just bloody _consult_ me first, I could find you the right person!”

John stood there staring for a moment with his jaw hanging open, and then clicked it shut.

“What do you think, Sherlock? That I’ll marry someone and just _move her in with us_? That all this running around after criminals is going to _continue_ even after I find Ms. Right?!”

“Yes,” Sherlock stated firmly.

It took a few moments. At first John was surprised, than his eyes flickered over to pity, Sherlock raised his eyebrow and John reconsidered his points, and than he went pale. Sherlock saw the precise moment when he pictured them _not_ running after criminals, and realized it was a life he didn’t want to- couldn’t- live with. 

“Okay,” John nodded, “Okay. So. How do we… do this?”

Sherlock heard the undertone of _what is it going to cost me?_ He smiled. John thought this was so _complex_ , but it was the simplest thing in the world. He didn’t want anything in return except John’s continued friendship and loyalty. Instead of replying he gave John a firm slap on the shoulder and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet. They headed off to a different restaurant- they’d probably be pretty unwelcome in the one they’d just left- and Sherlock settled in to keep an eye out for someone suitable for them both.

XXX

The first date was awkward; she kept asking why Sherlock was there and eventually left in a huff after accusing them of being gay.

The second was a disaster; she had a nasty habit of sucking on her teeth that made John’s left eye twitch and he eventually said something intentionally offensive when he realized Sherlock wasn’t going to. It didn’t have Sherlock’s panache, but it did the trick. 

The third was perfect. John and Sherlock both had a great time, she was charming (not annoying) and patient (not easily annoyed), she had large (fake) breasts, and was moderately intelligent (engineer). 

John was so happy with her they took her out three more times before she allowed them to take her home. John gave Sherlock a cheery wave as he headed upstairs with her… and then came down a few minutes later looking frustrated. #3 left with an indignant huff. 

“What did you do wrong?” Sherlock asked, “I practically gift wrapped her for you!”

“Nothing. It’s what _you_ did wrong,” John snapped, “And you’ve got no idea how off it sounds for you to say she was ‘gift wrapped’.”

“Pardon?”

“You did explain to her that we’re _platonic_ right?” John asked, pacing the room while Sherlock tried to decide if he could ignore John and play his violin or not.

“I… _might_ have,” Sherlock said hesitantly.

“And that I like _women_?”

“Well… no. Why would that require explanation?”

“Because _she_ is a _he_ who is under the impression that we’re a _package deal_.”

“I see,” Sherlock sighed, “There’s always _something.”_ __

“On reviewing that sentence,” John mused with a smirk, “It _might_ have been a bit punny.”

“A pun yes, funny no. At least she got the package deal part right,” Sherlock sighed, “Well, halfway right. And I’ve got your type nailed down so we’ll have less trouble next time.”

John sighed, “Fine, just be more _explicit_ when you explain things? And find a way to ask about genitals without freaking them out. On second thought, I’ll worry about the genitals. You just find me another one like that with a vagina.”

“You sure the vagina bit’s a deal breaker?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, of course I’m sure.”

“It’s just that… never mind,” Sherlock shrugged his off and picked up his violin. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“ _What_?” John demanded.

“It’s just that… you sometimes check out Lestrade.”

“ _Lestrade_?!” John asked, his voice cracking loudly. 

“Well, he is…”

“ _Greg_ Lestrade?”

“Do you know another Lestrade? That would explain your insistence on using his first name despite me knowing him longer than you do,” Sherlock mused.

“Did you just imply I _like_ him because I use his first name?!”

“I mean, I can see the attraction,” Sherlock stated with an exaggerated thoughtful frown, “The silver hair is quite distinguished.”

“You’re yanking my chain!”

“And he’s rather fit,” Sherlock smirked.

“No, Sherlock, just no!” 

“He can drink you under the table, there’s a lot to be said for that.”

“I’m going to have a wank _while thinking of a woman_ , and go to sleep. Good night Sherlock.”

“That infectious grin!” Sherlock shouted after him.

“ _Goodnight_ Sherlock!” John’s door slammed on the end of his name.

XXX

It was Sherlock’s fault. It was _always_ Sherlock’s fault. He was such a damn _prat_. It was because of his damn suggestion, that’s all. The power of suggestion. There was absolutely no other reason why John was hard as a rock in the middle of a crime scene. 

“John?” Lestrade asked, and gave his shoulder a shove, “You okay?”

“Ah, yeah, Greg. How are you?”

Donovan and Anderson snickered and John blushed. 

“I was asking you if you wanted to get some air. You look a bit peaky.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Air. Great,” John replied, careful not to move his hands from where they were folded in front of his groin despite the jacket cover, “Uh, must have been the milk at breakfast, you know?”

Lestrade looked even more concerned and put his hand on John’s arm to guide him out. He kept giving him a sideways glance until they were outside. 

“You’ve been at worse crime scenes. Want to tell me what’s up?”

“Not really,” John replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“Are you and Sherlock fighting? He seemed a bit off, too.”

“Hm? No. We’re fine.”

Lestrade blinked and then smiled, a big goofy grin as if he had just been given a present, and John felt his stomach do a frighteningly familiar loop. 

_Fuck you, Sherlock. Fuck you for being right all the damn time. Well… most of the time._

“So, it’s about time!” Lestrade smiled, roughing John’s arm up again.

“Sorry, what?” John asked, a bit lost in Greg’s chocolate eyes, “Damn, they’re nearly _black_.”

“What?”

“Your… nothing. What’s about time?”

“You and Sherlock. Coming out to me. I’ve been waiting for _ages_.”

“Oh, no we’re… we’re not together,” John stammered, “I mean… I might be gay. I’m still sort of figuring that out.”

“Oh,” Greg blinked, “Well… really? You two are…”

“Just friends. _Very_ close friends, as it turned out. Attached at the hip you might say.”

“So why don’t you and he…?”

“Oh, gods, no. No, we don’t see each other like that. I mean I’d die for him, but he’s just my mate.”

“Yeah, right. Well… thanks for letting me know about you thinking things through,” Greg grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, “I know how it is to question your sexual identity so I’m here for you mate.”

“Yeah? You… ah… went through that a bit?”

“A bit?” Lestrade laughed, “Fucked my way through two sororities before I finally admitted I wanted a man in my life. Then I fell hard for the first one who would have me. Then he broke my heart by sleeping with _my sister_. Then I refused to date men for ages because they’re all sluts. Then I got married and quickly divorced because my _wife_ was a slut.”

John swallowed uncomfortably and Lestrade had the grace to look apologetic, “Look, I did have a few good men in between. It’s not all heartbreak and bad shags. Well, part of it is. Hell, I’m not doing a decent job of this am I?”

“Yeah, not really,” John laughed.

“Look, maybe we should go out for some pints tonight and I can introduce you to a friend of mine. He’s been single for a bit and…”

Sherlock passed them at a fast walk, knocking into Lestrade so that he stumbled against John who reached up and caught his shoulders. They ended up pressed together with John pinned to the wall behind him. Lestrade’s eyes went wide and John did his best not to groan as his erection was pressed firmly against the taller man’s thigh.

“Get a room!” Sherlock barked, hailing a cab, “And arrest the mother!”

“That’s…” John stammered. Greg backed up quickly, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, I know,” Lestrade sighed, looking resigned, “Not for me.”

“No, actually it was.”

“It… was?”

“Yeah, it was. Look, pints without your mate, yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay. Sure,” Lestrade replied, looking a bit startled. 

“Great. Eight?”

“Perfect.”

“Right. See you at the usual, then.”

John took off after Sherlock, who was being uncharacteristically _not_ pushy about how quickly John got into the cab. When he did slide in beside him it was with a hiss of discomfort at continuing discomfort. 

“Bloody hell, I’m like a damn teenager again,” John hissed, shifting miserably in the cab.

“Oh yes, that. If it doesn’t go away within six hours do go to A&E,” Sherlock muttered to his mobile.

“What?”

“Your erection. If it persists for more than six hours go to A&E.”

“You… you slipped me Viagra?” 

“Sloppy eater, John. I have warned you.”

“You _pisspot_.”

“Mm-hm,” Sherlock nodded, “I knew it. She was collecting the insurance.”

“What if I had a heart condition?” John asked angrily.

“You don’t. Unless being in _love_ with Lestrade counts,” Sherlock taunted.

“You _cock_!” John swore angrily.

“So sweet John. You should have seen you two fawning over each other. I never knew you cared.”

“I’m going to kill you,” John groaned, his cock throbbing in his trousers.

“Oh, John, that’s so two years ago.”

XXX

John changed his clothes three times before Sherlock came upstairs and rescued him, smiling fondly as he adjusted John’s tie. 

“You look smashing, John. He’ll be smitten,” Sherlock stated softly, his tone warm.

“I hope so. Have you noticed his eyes? What am I saying? Of course you have,” John babbled anxiously, “Look, okay I can deal with the fact I’m interested in him _emotionally_ , but what about physically?”

Sherlock chuckled, “Let me deal with that part.”

“How _exactly_ are you going to deal with that part?” John asked, eyes narrowed at Sherlock. 

“That’s the door,” Sherlock stated eagerly, “Stay up here while I have a little _chat_ with your date.”

“Sherlock. No,” John replied, chasing after him.

“I know how to handle Lestrade, John,” Sherlock scolded.

“No! Nonononononono, Sherlock!” John got around him and stepped in front, “This isn’t some random girl you decided was right for us, it’s _Greg_. I think I can be trusted to _date_ him.”

“Us?” Greg asked, coming up the stairs with a confused look on his face.

“See?” Sherlock replied with a huff, “You’ve already bungled it. Just let me handle this. I have more experience with him than you do.”

“Ah, maybe this is…” Greg stammered.

“A few instructions,” Sherlock stated as he brushed John aside, “As I’m sure you’re aware, John and I are a package deal. Since you’re already involved with me that shouldn’t be an issue.”

John groaned and ran a hand over his face while Greg snickered in amusement. Sherlock continued as if unaware.

“Now I realize you’re used to topping, but-“

“Sherlock!” John guffawed.

“-but in light of John’s inexperience I think you’ll agree that it would be best for you to bottom until he’s more comfortable with his sexuality.”

John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock off, but Lestrade spoke up first, “Well that seems fair. I mean he’s a doctor, it’s not like he’ll hurt me. Sure. No problem.”

John gaped and Sherlock nodded with a content smile, “Then I’ll see you two when you get back. I have an experiment to run. John, I trust I can leave you in Lestrade’s capable hands?”

“Oh, he’s in good hands,” Lestrade winked, then put his hand on a disgusted John’s lower back and guided him out of the flat before he could get over his horror enough to shout at Sherlock. 

“I can’t believe him,” John sighed.

“He means well,” Lestrade chuckled, “He’s very protective of you.”

“I suppose.”

“You love it,” Lestrade teased, giving him a playful nudge as they walked down the pavement together.

“You look nice,” John replied instead.

“Thanks. I clean up well if I don’t say so myself.”

He really did. Greg was looking dapper in a charcoal grey suit minus the tie. The top button of his black shirt was undone showing a tuft of hair. 

_A hairy chest. What the hell do I do with that? What if I go to kiss it and get a hair in my mouth? Fuck’s sake the last three women I’ve gone down on have had shaved quims! I don’t know what to do with hair!_ __

“Hey,” Greg’s hand cupped the side of John’s face and he realized he’d stopped dead in the sidewalk to have a mild panic attack, “Hey, easy. It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen except a few drinks between friends. Nothing we haven’t done before. Only difference is we both know we like cock now. Hell, if you’re not sure there’s no reason this has to happen again. We just go back to how it was. Pints and rugby.”

“Pints and rugby. Right. Because watching a bunch of men tussle over a ball in tight uniforms is so _very_ heterosexual.”

Lestrade snickered, “I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t know the names of a single damn league.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. Too busy staring at their arses to pay attention, even when you’re telling me. Sure know the names of the players though. Hard to miss that when you’re picturing their shirts being ripped off.”

John laughed and relaxed a bit, “I’ve seen it happen, actually.”

“Get out?” Lestrade asked, eyes widening.

“Remind me to find a clip on youtube for you.”

Crisis averted, they continued to their local and John held the door for Lestrade who gave him a lurid wink in response. They sat down at their usual table and flirted mildy while watching a game. John found he had _no_ trouble admitting to himself that he occasionally was watching an arse instead of the ball and Lestrade was quite obviously turned on by the whole thing. When his hand slid over to cover John’s he made a conscious effort not to jerk it away and was rewarded by Lestrade stroking his pinky over John’s index finger. His mind immediately decided his finger was connected to his cock and he felt himself heat up. 

“So,” John stated, clearing his throat, “Sherlock’s been a bit vague so maybe I should spell things out a bit. He wants all access to me regardless of relationships I may or may not have.”

“All access to your…” Lestrade left he sentence hang.

“Ah, let’s see. My hand… to pick things up for him. My laptop… because his is usually too far away. My time… because he hasn’t got enough of his own.”

Greg threw his head back and laughed, sadly removing the fingerjob he’d been (unintentionally?) giving John. John chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

“You should hear him evaluate my dates. You got it easy. Seriously easily.”

John’s phone went off and he checked it immediately, having learnt long ago that ignoring Sherlock meant he showed up rather than walk into the kitchen to get his own damn tea. 

**How is it going? - SH** **__**

John went to answer the text, but another and another came through before he could.

**Give details. - SH** ****

**Don’t be boring. - SH** ****

**Make sure you mention your bizarre fascination with his eyes. – SH** ****

**In a romantic way. – SH** ****

**Do you think you can manage mutual masturbation on the first date? We don’t want him to think you’re TOO reluctant. – SH** ****

**If you’re comfortable. – SH** ****

**Should I be there? If my presence would relax you I will tolerate the sight. – SH** ****

**Why aren’t you answering? You had better not be having sex with him yet. That would be decidedly too fast. – SH** ****

**Still awaiting your reply. – SH** ****

**John. If you do not respond in the next ten minutes I will be forced to assume the worst. – SH** ****

**You had better not be at a crime scene without me. – SH** ****

**I will be decidedly cross. – SH** ****

**DAMN IT JOHN I WILL NOT BE IGNORED! – SH** ****

“He’s lost his bloody mind!” John announced, typing out a response as fast as he could.

**CALM THE FUCK DOWN WE’RE JUST HAVING A PINT EVERYTHING IS FINE LUNATIC – J**

**What took you so long? – SH** ****

**We can’t all type 100 wpm. – J** ****

**I’ve already told you there are typing classes for adults available at St. Bart’s. – SH** ****

John was halfway through a cross reply when Lestrade cleared his throat and he looked up guiltily.

“This why your dates always take off?” Lestrade asked with a grin.

“Sorry,” John sighed, “If I don’t respond he just shows up, and once I respond he goads me, and once I get pissed off he gets pissy, and…”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve known him for six years,” Greg chuckled, “What you need to remember is he’s got an off switch.”

“He has?” John asked, eyes widening in alarm.  ****

“Here. Let me see it,” Greg replied, holding out his hand for John’s phone. John passed it over and he typed out a short message and then handed it back.

John stared at it in confusion, “What’s this, then?”

“An experiment he never finished. He’s been trying to replicate his first results for _years_. Mention it and he’ll drop everything to torture himself and his chemistry set for hours before giving up and playing sad songs on the violin until he thinks of something else to do. Thankfully for you, I have an unsolved case to switch him back to sweet in the morning.”

“You. Are. A. Genius,” John grinned, and hit send. 

A message came back.

**Tell Lestrade I shan’t forgive him. – SH**

“He’s not thrilled.”

“Nah, but he’ll be distracted for a bit. Which means you and I can be distracted, too.”

John smiled and let him pay for the next round.

XXX

John woke up and nearly rolled off the couch and onto the floor. It took him a minute to remember why he was sleeping on the couch with his trousers off and his cock hanging out of his pants, and when he had he bolted for the toilet and was stupendously sick. 

“You didn’t drink enough for that,” Lestrade sighed from the doorway, “Regrets? You want me to call Sherlock?”

“No. Just… give me a minute,” John panted.

“Sure, but I need to piss.”

John waved at the tub and Lestrade chuckled, stepped behind him, and let out a sigh of relief. John gave a curious glance over his shoulder and had to admire the man’s aim. He was barely splashing anything besides the drain. The realization that his date of the previous night was pissing into the tub made him chuckle. When he finished he left with a grunted explanation about putting on coffee. John heard him breaking wind in the kitchen as he started breakfast. By the time he’d started his morning ritual of throat clearing and groaning as he sank into his favorite chair John was doubled over on the floor laughing hysterically.

“Getting real worried out here!” Lestrade called.

“S-sorry!” John laughed, forcing himself to his feet. He managed his morning ablutions and then stepped into Greg’s sitting room where he was reading his morning paper. 

“You okay?” He asked as he glanced up.

“Yeah, just… a bit thrown off. This is all new to me,” John replied, sitting down with another chuckle and helping himself to the coffee. It was just as he usually drank it, leave Greg to know, “Thanks for this. It’s perfect.”

“So what was so funny?” Greg asked, “I hope it wasn’t something I did last night?”

John thought back to the end of their night. They’d agreed to go back to Greg’s and relax for a bit, maybe watch a movie. John would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for a snog or more at that point what with all the beer relaxing him. When they’d gotten in they’d popped in a Bond film, collapsed onto the couch, and…

_Greg’s hand was on his thigh. High up on his thigh. The barely clothed women on the screen were doing it for John almost as much as that warm grip on near his cock was. Almost. The man looked bored, though._ __

_“What to watch something else?”_ __

_“Hm? Oh, yeah. Honestly I’m not to keen on watching a bloke seduce women today.”_ __

_“Yeah,” John laughed, “I imagine not. Okay, so what shall we watch?”_ __

_Lestrade visibly hesitated, licking his lips much as John often did, and then leaned forward with a gleam in his eyes._ __

_“Look, this is a bit cliché, but you know what helped me figure this all out?”_ __

_“Porn?” John grinned._ __

_“Exactly.”_

_Lestrade broke out his favorite porno, one with a plot that was sure to be lacking but the blokes were attractive enough, and they both whipped out their cocks. Lestrade had his trousers all the way off so John decided it was a good idea. He had his pants still on and so did his host. That seemed a good idea. For now._ __

_Twenty minutes in and John’s hand was flying over his cock. There were only men, all of them tan and mostly muscled, it was a pirate theme with a ludicrous theory that semen could keep away scurvy- no matter how it was administered. They were consuming it in every orifice they could manage and rubbing it into their skin like sun cream._ __

_“Fuck,” John gasped, “Guess I’m bi.”_ __

_“Yeah,” Greg panted, “Welcome to the gotta-fuck-em-all club.”_ __

_John scoffed. The scene had ended and he slowed his hand, holding out for the next one to get off with. Lestrade did the same with a low groan._ __

_“I love this one but the scenes are too short.”_ __

_“Yeah they are,” John panted, rolling his balls, “Of course, we could just make our own.”_ __

_“Oh no. You’re not ready for that,” Lestrade chuckled, “Let’s keep this simple, yeah?”_ __

_“I’m not a damn kid,” John grumbled, “At least let me kiss you?”_ __

_Lestrade gave him a hungry look and their hands left their pricks to grasp at hair, necks, and clothes. Their teeth clashed together with the force of their kiss and John groaned as he pressed as close to the man as he could until they were forced to move parallel by John’s insistance that he occupy the same space as Greg. John was pulled on top, his arse gripped in firm hands, and the feel of his strength was nearly as erotic as the hard shaft pressed to his stomach. They began to frot against each other, grunting hungrily as their hands worked their way between their bodies. The next scene had started but they only glanced at it occasionally as they stroked each other’s cocks. John had handled the occasional penis in a clinic, and a few had hardened as sometimes happened, but this was different. Lestrade’s was rock hard and damp at the tip. It slid in and out of his hand feeling both familiar and absolutely new. Greg’s head lolled back on the couch and he moaned throatily as John rolled his hips into his hand. His other hand stroked up the man’s shirt and got his first sensual touch of a hairy chest. It was instantly his new favorite thing to stroke aside from his own prick. The texture was unbelievably erotic against his palms and he began to stroke and rub at his nipples. Lestrade apparently enjoyed it because he mewled and writhed beautifully, gripping John’s arse until he came hard across his cock and stomach._ __

_“Fuck yeah,” Lestrade gasped, following a few strokes later while John was still sighing out his pleasure._ __

_At least that was what John had wanted to happen. What actually happened was that they finished during the next scene and Lestrade told him he could kip on the couch. He accepted and slept peacefully until faced with the full force of his newfound sexuality the next morning._ __

“Nah, you were a perfect gentleman last night… and a regular man this morning.”

“Sorry?” Greg frowned.

“I’m just not used to my dates pissing in the tub and farting around me. It’s kind of a relief. I can just be me. It’s got me wondering what the hell I was avoiding this for, you know?”

Greg smiled and nodded, “Yeah, I get that.”

XXX

“Things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped,” Sherlock stated when John walked through the door.

“No, but it didn’t go badly either. I think I just expected him to throw me over his shoulder and show me the rainbow coloured bed he sleeps in every night.”

“The bisexual flag is pink, purple, and blue.”

“Whatever,” John sighed, dropping into his chair, “Anyway, it turns out he’s a gentleman and didn’t want to take advantage of me.”

“You’ll see him again,” Sherlock decided, nodding and turning back to his experiment.

“Of course I will,” John nodded with a grin, “Best date I’ve had in years.”

“Good. Then I count it as a success. Now come over here and drink this,” Sherlock held up a beaker, “Tell me how you feel in an hour.”

  


[CHAPTER 2](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/170071.html)

Rugby shirt tearing.  
[ http://s3-eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/inspire-ipcmedia-com/inspirewp/live/wp-content/uploads/sites/7/2012/03/stephen-ferris-v-france.jpg ](http://s3-eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/inspire-ipcmedia-com/inspirewp/live/wp-content/uploads/sites/7/2012/03/stephen-ferris-v-france.jpg)

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[ http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6kKty1BBtK0/TrPIu6L3oaI/AAAAAAAAAEk/gnNmvT66-Yc/s1600/isaac+luke.jpg ](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6kKty1BBtK0/TrPIu6L3oaI/AAAAAAAAAEk/gnNmvT66-Yc/s1600/isaac+luke.jpg)


	2. Chapter 2

 

WARNING UPDATE: Warnings have changed. This is officially an Omegaverse fic now, so roll up your sleeves, grab your lube, and hang on to whatever the gods gave you for dear life. 

John’s cries of pain could be heard over the ambulance’s siren as they rushed him to St. Mary’s at top speed. Sherlock clasped his hand while the medics continually reminded him they’d have something for the pain at the hospital. 

“I’ll fucking _kill_ you Sherlock!” John screamed at him.

“What I gave you shouldn’t have done this.”

“I told you _NO!_ I told you I wouldn’t drink it!!”

“And then I guilted you into it and you _did_ , so really in the end _you’re_ to blame and…”

“KILL! YOU!”

“If it makes you feel any better Lestrade is right behind us.”

It didn’t. John had been at the Yard with Sherlock looking over that cold case Lestrade had promised. He was in the middle of puffing out his chest and describing one of his prouder moments during his tour in Afghanistan to his new boyfriend when he’d suddenly doubled over in pain and _shat himself_. He’d had a violent bowel movement just after breakfast, but he’d figured that was the end of it. He couldn’t even believe there was anything left in him, but there was undeniably a warm rush of fluids into his trousers exiting from the back end. He’d staggered towards the toilet in absolute horror, completely unable to meet Lestrade’s eyes, but collapsed partway there. They’d ended up calling 999 when the pain had gotten so bad he’d started sobbing. He felt like his insides were being rearranged.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably beside John and made a strange face.

“You okay?” The medic asked.

“No. I’m not,” Sherlock groaned, clutching his abdomen, “John, I don’t think what I gave you caused this.”

“You too?” John panted through his agony.

“You need to lie down?” The medic asked, looking for a way to secure him to the bench if he did.

“No, it’s tolerable at the moment, but it’s bloody awful. It also seems to be focused in my actual genitals rather than bowels.”

Except that whatever it was it was spreading fast. By the time they got to the hospital the medic beside them was throwing up his breakfast into a bag and sobbing for her mother. Sherlock still looked stoic, but when the sirens cut off John could hear agonized whimpering from up front. The driver opened the door and they heard him topple to the ground, wailing in pain. 

_What the hell is this? What moves this fast? They’ll have to quarantine us!_

People came rushing out of the hospital, but the medic shouted that there was a contagion and repeated John’s thought about quarantine. They left and returned with gloves and masks, loading the four of them onto stretchers. Just before John blacked out he saw Lestrade’s car careen into the parking lot and crash into a pole. 

John groaned as he struggled into consciousness once again. He was hot, burning up in a way that the desert had nothing on, and soaked from head to toe in sweat. A hand gripped his tightly for a moment and then went still. John turned his head, pulling open eyes that felt like lead, and stared up at the battered face of Gregory Lestrade.

“Hey,” Lestrade whispered.

“Hey,” John replied, shifting miserably. His trousers were still soiled, “You really don’t want to be this close.”

“It’s fine. Whatever it is I have it too. Half of NSY is here. Anyone who even waved to you before you collapsed got a one-way ticket to St. Mary’s. They can’t stop it from spreading. The whole damn hospital is quarantined.”

“Fuck. That explains why I’m still… Uh, look, I meant what I said about not being so close. You might not smell it yet, but you will.”

“Smell what? Your cologne? You think that’s what’s causing this? Some mass-allergic reaction? Tell me _Sherlock_ didn’t make it for you!”

“No, no, no, no,” John replied, shaking his head weakly, “It’s just… look, there’s no graceful way to say this. I shat myself and no one’s had time to clean me up.”

John would have blushed had he not been flushed with fever already. Lestrade just frowned at him and shook his head.

“Why didn’t you say so? That’s got to be damn uncomfortable. Hold on a sec.”

John sighed in relief when he walked away, assuming he was fetching a nurse, but instead he returned with several towels and started snapping on some gloves.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to clean you up. Can’t be too much worse than my kid’s diaper. I’ll toss your clothes in the laundry and you’ll feel like a whole new man.”

John was horrified, “I don’t want my _boyfriend_ wiping my arse!”

“Look,” Lestrade huffed, “I’m not letting them touch you, so you might as well relax and let me take care of you.”

“Not letting who touch me?”

“The nurses and doctors.”

“Why the fuck not?!” John demanded, “It’s kind of why I’m here!”

“Because when they first brought me in those bastards were pawing you up,” Greg replied, his eyes turning cold and angry, “I had to beat them off of you with my damn e-brake. Good thing I was still holding onto it. I let them put us in quarantine because it was good sense, but I’ve been the one administering medicine to you.”

“You… what?” John asked, staring up at his clearly _insane_ boyfriend.

“It’s fine, John. They already had the IV in your arm and I read the labels before following their instructions. I’m taking good care of you. Really,” Lestrade reached out and stroked John’s hair gently, “Just let me clean you up and you’ll feel better.”

John lay there, staring around the room as best he could from his horizontal position, and saw they were in a large room- possibly the cafeteria- that had been closed off. Cloth dividers had been wheeled in and all around him were beds and stretchers filled with moaning, sobbing people. No nurses. No doctors. Not any that weren’t also bedridden, at least. And at each bed stood a snarling, angry, clearly _insane_ man or woman guarding the bed’s occupant while others milled about looking primitive. Sherlock walked around the curtain from wherever he’d been and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Lestrade tucking a towel beneath his hips and then starting to open his trousers.

“Isn’t it a bit public?” Sherlock asked.

“Nah, it’s not like that. He needs his pants changed. They left him a mess, the pricks.”

“Hm. They could have done worse with the way they were groping him. Shall I help?”

“Considering _you’re_ to blame for this? Damn straight you should help,” Lestrade grumbled, pulling John’s trousers down. 

Sherlock came to his other side, pulling on a pair of gloves and smiling softly down at John.

“It’s going to be okay, John. Lestrade and I are going to protect you,” With that he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple, “We won’t let them touch you. You’re Lestrade’s lover, not theirs.”

“Listen to me, Sherlock,” John pleaded, “Use that huge brain of yours! This isn’t normal. The way you’re acting _isn’t normal_. Think about it. Doctors and nurses _have_ to touch me in order to take care of me. I’m sick. I need a doctor.”

“Not one that will touch you,” Sherlock replied, his eyes flashing with hate, “Not ever one that will touch you. You are Lestrade’s to touch _only_. Perhaps mine if he lets me, but not _ever_ anyone elses.”

“Hang on a tic,” Lestrade stated from where he’d propped up John’s legs, “This isn’t shit.”

“Is it blood?” John asked quickly, deciding the consistency was similar, “If it’s blood it indicates a lower- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Greg had run his finger through whatever was dripping down his arse cheeks and raised it to his nose to sniff at. 

“Hmm, so this is what that smell is. Damn near delectable,” He announced, than licked off his finger.

“Oh gods,” John groaned, “I’m going to die. I’m going to die a slow and horrible death while my boyfriend and best friend go insane and do unwholesome things to my body.”

“Don’t be thick,” Sherlock scolded, and headed south to have a peek at John’s ass juices, “Odd. It’s almost clear.”

“It tastes like pussy juice,” Lestrade replied, scooping up another sample and sucking off his finger, this time sans the glove.

“May I?”

“Hm… let me scoop it up,” Lestrade replied, eyes narrowed at Sherlock, “I don’t want you touching his arse.”

“Fair enough,” Sherlock nodded, and licked off the proffered finger, “You’re right. It tastes exactly like vaginal secretions, but it smells different… almost…”

“Spicy,” Lestrade supplied, and hopped up on the table to bury his face in John’s ass, licking his way up his bollocks and then back down to his arse while trails of fire and desire traveled through John.

“Oh gods!” John gasped, clutching at his hair.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Sherlock replied with an irritated huff, “I’ll check up on you later. Molly is two beds over and she’s terrified. She doesn’t have anyone to keep her safe like you do.”

“Oh gods,” John groaned again, bracing his feet on Lestrade’s back and rolling his hips up to him.

“John,” Lestrade panted against his flesh, “I know you wanted to top the first time but… fuck, I need you now and you kinda don’t need lube, so…”

“Mph!” John managed, panting as his cock hardened in the chill hospital air.

Another maddened patient came tearing through the room, snarling and growling wildly, knocking over the divide between John’s bed and the one next to him. Several of the other aggressive patients leaped at him, punching and kicking as he struggled to get to the occupant of the bed beside John. Lestrade had stopped his absolutely fantastic licking to lift his head and stare at the fight with narrowed eyes. Sure enough, the attacker broke free and charged at John and Lestrade. Greg leaped off of John’s stretcher and charged the man and they went down in a pile of arms and legs. John sat up, using the distraction to reach up and shut off his morphine, but his legs were still rubbery. He was completely helpless to do anything except sit there and watch as his boyfriend and two strangers beat the man on the floor to death. Once done murdering someone for going near John, Greg stood up and gave him a proud grin.

“Did you see that? I told you I could protect you.”

John opened his mouth to tell him he was mad as a hatter, but all that came out was a needy groan. He was still disoriented from the morphine, but his body was awake and howling for sex. Greg responded with a hungry purr and climbed onto the stretcher once more. There was barely any room on the tiny thing so he climbed off again and scooped John up, barely giving him time to unhook his leads. Blankets were tugged to the floor as John wrapped his legs around the man’s waist before he dropped to his knees and lowered them onto the makeshift nest. 

John was writhing with need, the pain having shifted to his backside where it felt like the muscles in his arse were having some sort of horrid muscle spasm. 

“Oh fuck! My arse!”

“What do you think I’m _going_ to do?” Lestrade asked, literally tearing his trouser flies in his urgency to get them off.

“IT FUCKING HURTS!”

Greg lifted John’s hips and stuffed the pillow beneath them, stroking his thighs and sliding his hand closer to his arse with a soft sigh that almost sounded reverent. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and he stared at John with worship in his eyes. John stared down between his boyfriend’s- soon to be lover’s- thighs and gaped at what he saw there. 

“Fucking huge,” John gasped, writhing in pain and unbearable lust. 

“Yeah. That’s new,” Lestrade replied, “I was average at best. Now my balls are big as fucking apples and my cock is… _fuck._ ”

Greg pressed his hand down between John’s arsecheeks, stroking his cleft. John’s muscles clenched again and he screamed and thrashed.

“You want your morphine back?”

“No. Fuck no. I need a clear head now you’ve gone stark raving mad.”

Lestrade shrugged and slid his finger easily inside. John gasped as his body clenched automatically, but the movement wasn’t an attempt to expel but an attempt to _pull in_. He was instantly moaning like a whore. His attempts to push back on Greg’s finger were useless in this position so he flipped over and pushed his arse back against his hand.

“John, you little tart! You’re all stretched out for me. What is this, some kind of lube made to taste like a woman? You planned this, didn’t you? You _want_ me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” John gasped, responding to the last question only. He had no way to explain that the first several were incorrect, not with all the blood from his brain currently focused in his cock. 

Lestrade had three fingers stuffed into his entrance now and was pumping them while he groaned and lapped at the fluids dripping from his body. 

“There’s so much! How did you get it all inside of you? I need to fuck you so bad, John.”

“P-please!” John gasped, pushing back against his hand, “I need something bigger!”

Greg’s hand vanished and he shouted in frustration, but then found himself with something hard pressed against his entrance.

“This big enough for you?” Greg asked, and then pushed past a muscle that wasn’t even _trying_ to do its job. 

“YEEES!” 

John shouted as if his team had just scored. Greg was pounding into his body fast and hard and he couldn’t get enough. His body shook with desire, his insides clenched at the cock pressed inside of him, his bollocks were full and throbbing with need. Yet John couldn’t get relief. His grip on his cock did nothing to speed his climax along. The impossibly long and thick cock in his arse didn’t feel big enough. Every press to his prostate felt light even though Greg was pounding into him so hard that he was sure to bruise. Hell, the shock was that he was not tearing! Still his body was clenching and needy for _more_.

Greg was shouting something, sounding distressed, but John’s ears were ringing and something odd was starting up in his body. He swore his muscles were stretching _wider_ and his mind was becoming hazy and confused. 

“Did you hear me?” Greg shouted, “John! I’m _swollen_ down there. I think I’m having an allergic reaction or…”

“P-please,” John sobbed, his body wild with pain and pleasure, “Please. More. Deeper.”

John pushed back weakly. He felt as if every muscle in his body was sending its strength to his _ass_ , of all places. Thankfully Greg was responding to his plea and thrust hard against him and held, pressing harder and harder, legs scrabbling on the floor. John gasped. Something bulbous was pressing against his stretched hole, something at the base of Greg’s cock. It felt like _salvation_. He pushed back and a strange keening sound swelled into his throat. It drove Greg savage and he snarled wildly, clawing at his hips, until the mass popped through the twitching muscle and John was finally _full_.

Bliss. Absolute pure and unparalleled ecstasy. An orgasm unlike anything John had ever thought was possible, one that had him seeing _galaxies_ rather than simple, pathetic stars. His brain shorted, his body went limp, and Greg ground his hips into John’s body forcing that knot into his prostate over and again. John could barely choke in a breath, and once he did he screamed his throat raw as another orgasm pounded through him. 

Then It happened. Capital ‘I’, _It_ happened. Greg Lestrade climaxed, except he didn’t just _come_ a measly teaspoons. The bulge in John’s arse gave a violent shudder that felt like a vibrator going off and John sobbed as his body built up to another release that he wasn’t sure he could survive. Then the cock inside of him poured out come, pulsing and throbbing as it filled him. It was far more and far more _powerfully_ pushed out than anything he’d ever experienced from the other side of the situation. He felt himself fill with warm fluids and moaned, as he _finally_ felt full. 

Gregory was shouting out his own release, positively _roaring_ with his own gratification. The cock shuddered inside of him again and John felt a slow whiteness descend over him as he slipped deeper into a state that almost felt like a trance. The last thing he felt was his body swelling with even more hot come. It was divine. It was perfect. It was more than satisfying. He was _complete.  
_ __

[CHAPTER 3](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/170376.html)


	3. vincentmeoblinn | Joined at the Hip Ch 3

DUBIOUS CONSENT FOR THIS CHAPTER ONLY – only hinted at, not described

John woke up tired, sore, and dehydrated. When he peeled his eyes open he could see someone carefully inching forward. They were wearing a HAZMAT suit. John blinked and tried his damndest to remember what the _fuck_ he’d done last night. He was fairly certain it was Sherlock’s fault. It was _always_ Sherlock’s fault. He tried to tell that to whoever had leaned over him, but the person was shushing him instantly. A groan behind him brought everything back and John weakly glanced over his shoulder to see Lestrade looking miserable. He was asleep, but he was moving as if distressed, and his face was a mess of black and blue with a cut on the bridge of a clearly broken nose. 

“Don’t… mine…” He tried, shifting and reaching a hand out to snatch at John’s tattered shirt. 

The person leaning over John was trying to get to the arm with the IV in it. The fact it was still attached was proof positive that tape was made of magic and Hogwarts did exist. _Which means I’m a muggle since I didn’t get my letter. Fuck._ He shifted as much he could- truly a herculean effort- and let them get to the arm. The saline was attached and blessed fluids reached John’s body. He shivered with the cold rush, but it was heavenly even if it made him have to _instantly_ piss. He was past caring at this point, what with buckets of come leaking out of his ass, and was just considering pissing himself intentionally when Lestrade stirred behind him and sat up with a ferocious growl.

“MINE!”

“I won’t take him. He’s yours. I’m just trying to help,” The person- woman apparently- insisted through the visor. 

“You smell _wrong_ ,” Lestrade snarled, “Go away! Mine!!”

He took a swipe at her and she toppled backwards to avoid being hit. Her helmet must have been faulty, because it took that moment to fall right off. The woman let out a terrified cry and sat up, looking at the doors in fear. John could see now that a plastic casing that led to a decontamination chamber further into the hall surrounded the entryway. They were trying to stop this- whatever it was- from spreading. She wouldn’t be allowed to leave.

“I’m sorry,” John slurred out.

“You should be!” She raged at him, “This is _your_ fault! Typhoid Mary!”

“What?” John asked, and then recalled the mixture Sherlock had convinced him to imbibe, “No, let’s blame Frankenstein.”

“Who?”

“The bastard who poisoned me,” John grumbled. 

His body was coming to life, a surge of adrenaline flowing through him. He had an intense urge to scrub something- starting with himself- and then the whole damn place.

“Is there a bathroom here?” He asked, pulling himself out of Lestrade’s disoriented grip.

“That way,” She replied, starting to peel off the suit as she pointed towards a set of doors, “Don’t bother with the windows. They glued them shut and boarded them up. Kitchen is that way if you’re hungry. The food is limited, but not everyone’s been eating so there’s probably still some left. They’re arranging to send some more in.”

John nodded. He was _starved_ , but he had to piss first. He walked the long path to the toilets and looked around him in shock. The men and women who had been screaming in pain or snarling in rage were now paired off- or grouped off- and fucking like rabbits. They seemed high on something- perhaps the strange spicy smell in the air- and were unaware of their surroundings. John gaped in horror at the sight of Sherlock snarling as he pinned a woman with long black hair to the floor. Beside him knelt a youngish man who John wasn’t familiar with. He was stark naked and erect, rubbing his cock against Sherlock’s thigh and whimpering piteously. John heard him begging softly for Sherlock’s attention and looked away in disgust. 

Once he reached the bathroom he pissed for what felt like an eternity and then gulped water shamelessly from the tap despite the IV pole following him around. Then, still feeling ridiculously energized, he scrambled up on to the counter, squatted over the sink, and did his best rendition of a whore’s bath before climbing down (nearly breaking his neck on the now wet floor) and making a downright hilarious attempt at drying his ass and groin off with the blowers. Finally, chuckling to himself a bit, he headed back out into Sodom and Gomorrah and crossed the floor to the kitchens. He slipped in, washed his hands again for good measure, and set about preparing some food for himself and Lestrade. He felt intensely affectionate towards the man, an almost giddy feeling like his first crush in school. He wanted to feed him by hand like some sappy romance novel. The desire was so strong that he couldn’t even talk himself out of it. He downed a sandwich quickly and then made his way back to his sleeping lover with a tray full of food and coaxed him awake.

“Hey,” Lestrade stated, his voice gravely, “Thirsty.”

“I’ll bet,” John chuckled, and pressed a water bottle to his lips. 

Greg gulped it down gratefully, finishing half the bottle before relaxing back against their sticky bedding. 

“How about we get you up on the stretcher?”

“Doubt it’s possible,” Lestrade replied weakly, “I can barely move my damn legs. I feel like I’ve torn every muscle in my lower half. Is it possible to break your penis?”

“Yes.”

“I think I did that too.”

Worried now, John pulled up the sheet and glanced down at him. He certainly _was_ swollen, but it didn’t look purpled like a ‘broken’ penis would. There was no obvious tearing as he felt along it, though the skin was raw from repeated and violent sex. 

“How many times did we actually…”

“I’ve lost track. John. It’s been _days_.”

“W-what?” John asked, unable to believe him.

“I was getting you water, but you wouldn’t eat. John,” Lestrade grabbed his hand and gave him a frantic, pleading look, “I swear to you I couldn’t stop myself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You weren’t conscious,” Lestrade closed his eyes in misery, “You weren’t even able to _move_. You were so weak. Like a kitten. I just kept pouring water into you and fucking you over and again… I wanted to stop. I didn’t _want_ to force you, I swear!”

“Greg. Shhhh,” John soothed, “I’m not about to blame you. Neither of us were in control and it’s not like I was saying no.”

Still, John worried about the rest of the people here. Who would be traumatized because of this? He stood up and stared around the room. At least half of them were still going at it, but he decided the damage was already done. Nothing he could do. Just focus on Greg for now. He lowered the stretcher and helped heave the man into it, standing it up with no small amount of difficulty. It really needed two people, but the nurse who had brought him saline was being stubborn and useless. 

Finally he had his boyfriend in a more comfortable situation and he covered him up gently. 

“I’ll get a flannel and clean you up a bit.”

“Yeah, okay. Miss your smell on me, though,” Greg grinned weakly.

“That’s _not_ my smell. That’s whatever the fuck Sherlock gave me. Whatever caused this.”

“Where is he?”

“Fucking a girl and a guy a few rows over.”

Lestrade groaned, “Not Molly. Please let it not be Molls.”

“No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Thank goodness. She’d never recover.”

“I’m not sure the two he’s after will either,” John sighed.

An hour later John ran out of ways to fuss over Lestrade and left him sleeping only to go stark raving mad with boredom. He ended up in the kitchen, scrubbing anything and everything in reach. A freshly scrubbed Anderson and Molly, who began raiding the kitchen for food with anxious looks on their faces, soon joined him. 

“This is mad,” Anderson told him, giving John a terrified look, “Sally’s grown a… a…”

“A what?”

Anderson shook his head, face pale and horrified, and rushed off with a tray full of food. John stared after him in confusion but didn’t follow. He wasn’t done scouring the stove and he was sure if the pattern held more people would be coming over soon. They were going to run out of pre-made foods and need to cook eventually, and the stovetop was _filthy_. He scrubbed harder and was soon joined by the woman Sherlock had been pounding into. She was slamming things down angrily, collecting food while swearing under her breath. The young man hurried in as well, looking flustered as he all but fought her for the food she was preparing. She threw her arms up in disgust and walked away with a sandwich. She didn’t head back to Sherlock. The man did, but he looked hesitant. 

_Fuck_ , John thought, _He’s in trouble and Sherlock doesn’t ‘do’ relationships_.

John hurried after them, feeling a pull towards Greg again as he passed him but ignoring it this time. Sherlock was stretched out on a bed looking pale and tired. The young man sat down and helped him sit, pressing the bottle to his lips and spilling most of it down him as he urged him to drink. John came in, thought about sitting on the bed, remembered the savage intercourse that had taken place there, and decided to remain standing.

“Sherlock? Do you recognize me?”

“Y-yes,” The weak voice reached him as he gestured to the young man, “Who is this person?”

“Your sexual partner, possibly for the last three days,” John supplied when the young man blushed and refused to reply.

“Age?” Sherlock asked, horror growing on his face.

“18, sir,” The young man stuttered out.

“Small mercy,” Sherlock breathed in relief. 

“No one had any control from what I’ve seen,” John soothed gently, meaning it for both of them, “I doubt most knew each other that well.”

“I’ve never seen _this one_ before in my life,” Sherlock replied, eyeing up the lad beside him. 

“Sherlock,” John scolded softly, “Some people get… attached… to their sexual partners and…”

“I’ve got a fiancé,” The stranger spoke up suddenly, “She’s here but… I’ll just… are you clean or…?”

“I’m clean,” Sherlock nodded, “I’ve no idea about the woman who was here before you woke up.”

“Woman?” He asked, “Long brown hair? Gorgeous accent?”

Sherlock nodded and the young man groaned miserably, “ _That’s_ my fiancé.”

“Congratulations,” Sherlock replied, “From what I remember she was quite the spitfire.”

Sherlock put his hand out to John, “As touching as this aftercare is I’d rather my flatmate cleaned me up.”

“Are you serious?!” John stammered, “I’m not washing their fluids off of you!”

He was moving forward despite his words, an intense tug inside of him to care for Sherlock the same way he’d cared for Lestrade. Then he was levering him up, half carrying him back to where Lestrade lay. There was no room on the stretcher so Sherlock lowered himself down to the floor with a groan. John pulled the partitions more closed as he had when he’d washed his boyfriend and set about cleaning Sherlock. He started with his face and worked his way down, leaving the genitals for last; genitals filthy from sex as Gregory’s had been, but at least he’d _known_ where those had been. Like Gregory’s, his penis and testicles were twice the size they should have been, but aside from chaffing there was no evidence of damage to his sexual organs. As far as John could tell he’d magically doubled in size. The base was also abnormally thick, though without being erect it was impossible to tell if he had the thick mass that had locked he and Greg together just before he’d passed out. 

“I’m not usually that large,” Sherlock stated, “Is it permanent?”

“You tell me, genius,” John grumbled, “You’re the one who filled me with some damn virus or bacteria or…”

“It was just a _mold_ , John! It was supposed to give you an erection! Harmless fun! Payment for having Lestrade re-start that _damned_ experiment on me again!”

“So that _wasn’t_ the experiment you’ve been repeating for years?” 

“It was,” Sherlock nodded, “It was an experiment meant to replicate a fertility drug used by the an aborigine tribe that was brutally slaughtered by conquistadors two hundred years ago. Supposedly it could even make _men_ give birth. I thought it was all a myth, but then some archaeologists found a burial site with a mummy in it. A male mummy with a mummified baby replaced in its belly for burial. I thought it was just some mad scheme, but I examined it myself. DNA samples were taken. That child was an 87% positive match for _maternal_ DNA from the man buried! We thought the man was simply intersex, but there’s no proof of that. He did have strange DNA, but we’re still analyzing it. That might simply be from inbreeding. Anyway, if that mold works it means we could _justify_ homosexuality! John! No reason for men to adopt when they can _have_ their own!”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” John held up a hand, “So you’re telling me you gave me a mold that could _make me pregnant_ the day after I started a relationship with a _man_?! You arsehole! You cock! You fucking…”

Lestrade pried John’s hands off of Sherlock’s throat and he was gently restrained until he calmed. Sherlock looked shocked, but not because John had tried to choke him.

“I couldn’t defend myself,” Sherlock gasped, rubbing his throat while John babbled in terror about possibly being pregnant, “I _literally_ could _not_ defend myself!”

“What are you going on about?” Lestrade asked.

“I caught his scent and my brain _screamed_ at me not to fight back! That I might hurt him! That he was _precious!_ ” Sherlock snarled in disgust.

“Not you!” Lestrade snapped, “John. Look at me. Talk to me. What are you going on about babies for?”

“Sherlock slipped me something to make me _pregnant_!” John wailed miserably.

“I mean, of _course_ John is precious. He’s very important. More important than The Work, but to not stop him strangling me out of fear of a bit of bruising or a snapped wrist…” Sherlock continued to muse.

“What the hell? Is that even possible?!” Lestrade asked, eyes wide as saucers as he clutched John tightly.

“He says it is! Some ancient culture used it and there’s a _male mummy_ that was a mummy when it died! Oh my gods, I’m past birthing age. My blood pressure will go up. I’m at risk for preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, _I could die in childbirth!”_

“That’s _not_ going to happen!” Lestrade snarled, “I’ll keep you safe! I’ll protect you! _I’ll make the doctors make you well!”_

“Hang on,” John paused, blinking in surprise as he glanced from Sherlock to Greg and back, “Did you just say I’m more important than The Work?”

Sherlock glanced up from where he was muttering under his breath and gave John a startled look, “Well of course you are. You always have been. Don’t be stupid.”

John relaxed. Just like that he relaxed. Sherlock and Greg would make it better. Whatever it was they would fix it. Because he mattered to them. He was being cared for by two strong people and that was… odd. Odd that his mind had just switched like that, odd that he felt he even _needed_ protecting when he was used to taking care of himself.  __

_You’re pregnant. Of course you need protecting. No. Wait. I might not be. Of course after all that spunk in me… I mean my stomach was_ distended _with the stuff. Fucking hell, it’d be a miracle if I wasn’t even_ without _Sherlock’s miracle mold._

John turned and buried his face in Greg’s shoulder and let himself sink into sleep. It was so sudden that both men were left staring at him in alarm and Sherlock hurried over to check his pulse.

“Too much excitement, I think. Let me check his IV… yes it’s fine. Let’s let him sleep,” Greg whispered, “He’s been through a hell of a lot.”

“I’m going to ask to talk to someone,” Sherlock decided, standing and searching for some clothing. 

Most trousers weren’t in a fit state to be worn, but he managed to tie Lestrade’s on with a bit of torn cloth. Once near the bolted doors he banged on them and shouted to the scientists and doctors standing on the other side.

“Excuse me! Hello! We’re mostly done having days of violent sex in here! We’d like to be let out! Or perhaps a mobile charger?” 

The people noticed him and one came over, pointing to the kitchen and miming a phone with his hand. Sherlock nodded and headed over to answer the ringing phone.

“We want to send people in,” The woman on the other side explained, “But the last few were attacked.”

“We were all driven mad by some odd reaction to a mold specimen I gave my flatmate,” Sherlock explained, “It seems to be wearing off now, but the physical side effects may be permanent. Several people within this room will need both physical and mental care.”

“We can’t take anyone out until we know that whatever is going on in there is no longer… did you say mold? That _you_ gave him? What, as a _lark_?”

“No, don’t be stupid. I’m a chemist. I was working on an experiment to make male pregnancy possible and…”

“Are you _mad_?! Do you know what you’ve _caused?!”_

“Considering it’s very possible that I’m a father now, yes. As for contagion, it’s unlikely you’ll be attacked now, but you could simply gas us all.” 

Silence. 

“Did you just suggest we gas you all?”

“Yes.”

“What about unknown medical conditions and complications from…”

“For the last three days you’ve had a mass of sick and injured people having violent sex in your café. The array of medical conditions and complications that could arise from _that_ are worthy of funding for study. Now. My name is Sherlock Holmes and if you’ve _ever_ read the papers you’ll know you’d better do something before I become bored and start thinking of a way out. Because I _will_ get out, and then the question of _if_ we are still either violent or contagious will be answered!” 

Sherlock hung up the phone with a satisfying slam and returned to his little nest with Lestrade.

“I need to sleep,” He complained, “I’m so damn tired.”

“Take the cot,” Lestrade suggested, “I’m not leaving John.” 

So saying the man curled up around his sleeping partner while Sherlock collapsed onto the stretcher. Neither woke when the gas started seeping in and the entire rooms occupants were completely under when people entered after it. Tests were quickly and efficiently administered, samples were taken, and food and necessary medications were left behind. One poor woman was removed in a very special body bag.  
  


[CHAPTER 4](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/170977.html)


	4. vincentmeoblinn | Joined at the Hip Ch 4

 

“You, little brother, never cease to amaze me. The _trouble_ you cause,” Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock frowned at him, but didn’t deny it. For once he was fully aware that what he’d started was a damned big deal, and he couldn’t just snatch up a phone, crack a password, and reclaim his power over the situation. He had been poked, prodded, transferred to another facility, poked and prodded again, and was now facing the fact that his actions might very well effect the entire _world_.

Because it had spread. It had managed to escape the cafeteria and before the people who walked away with it started showing symptoms it had made in onto the Underground. Then it made it onto a plane just before the Queen Herself grounded them all. Last he heard both India and Russia were having outbreaks. At first Sherlock and John had been faced with all sorts of charges being thrown at them, but then it had simply petered out. No one had the energy. They were all too busy either having sex or cleaning up the mess after.

“What am I to do with you?” Mycroft asked with a sigh.

He wasn’t even bothering with a mask today. Which meant he’d been infected as well. Or they’d proven it didn’t spread by air. 

“Which is it?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft blinked, caught the subject change, and went with it, “It’s only partly spread by air. The spores are inside of you, so whenever an infected person breathes it spreads the spores around. However, the spores can also attach themselves to surfaces, grow into mold, and produce more spores, which can travel by air to another destination. Since it’s also a mold growth it can work it’s way under things that would normally block air-traveling illnesses, sprout on the other side, and spread by air again. So far we have found them in half the buildings in the UK. It is now up for debate as to whether trying to eradicate it is even cost effective. Many are voting for crowd control instead.”

“Which mold is it?”

“All three. Your experiment created a mutant breed. It affects everyone differently, depending on which mold merges with their DNA first. One appears to be harmless and cause no major changes. That’s luckily the one _I_ contracted.”

“Merges with their…” Sherlock’s eyes widened. That information hadn’t been released to the public. It immediately reminded him of the strange DNA results on the mummy, “Of _course_!”

Mycroft was nodding, “You see the implication now? These people aren’t sick they are _changed_. So far they are receiving either pity for their ailment or hated for being a carrier. Imagine the reaction of the public when they realize we have a whole new form of human being on our hands? Testing so far indicates that those effected are _no longer able to breed with normal humans._ ”

Sherlock frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that they can’t have children with someone who isn’t also infected. In fact, they have to be infected by the dominant mold spore of the opposite mold. There are three total. We are referring to them as Alpha, Beta, and Omega molds.”

“That seems arbitrarily chosen,” Sherlock frowned.

“The media picked it. Alphas are those who are developing large phallus’, Omegas are the one who are developing advanced female reproductive systems, and Betas are those in between who seem unaffected.”

“Arbitrary,” Sherlock nodded.

“Still, it has stuck so we’re going with it,” Mycroft shrugged.

“What about encouraging the growth of the one that has no effects?”

“We _were_ doing that,” Mycroft frowned, “But we have so little data that it’s still a concern that something strange will turn up. Besides, while contact with primarily Betas does seem to cause more Betas, it is not a surefire solution to catching the Beta mold. The Alpha and Omega molds are still present, just in smaller amounts, so we’re still getting A and O even out of all Beta segregated groups.”

“You’re still getting _unwilling_ population control and limited breeding pools!” Sherlock snapped, “What if only morons become Alphas and Omegas?”

“Than we have you to blame for it,” Mycroft scowled, “It is out of my hands either way. I can open doors, not DNA!”

“We can’t just sit passive!” Sherlock snarled, pacing back and forth in the confines of his small cubical. An office building had been made into a home for those initially infected. 

“You won’t have to. You’re all being released in a few days. No one in London has been unaffected and we’ve learned all we can from your group of initial…”

“So I can begin my research once again?” Sherlock asked in relief.

“Apparently,” Mycroft stood slowly, “Which would be a benefit to all since the last week worth of research done by my best scientists has produced _nothing_ past your own findings while without lab equipment for two weeks!”

Sherlock didn’t mention that he’d been working on the mold for near ten years and had only _just_ had a result.

XXX

Everything was so damn complicated. John wanted to be angry at Sherlock, but he’d eventually accepted that this was just another experiment and he’d had no way of knowing it would turn so virulent. Yet here he was with these strange urges, urges that had nothing to do with his original personality. Those urges made Greg so _happy_ , but his happiness made John jealous; because at the end of the day it wasn’t the _original_ John that Greg had fallen in love with over the last two weeks, but a mutated version of him who had no control over his rampant instincts. 

‘Instinct’ was Sherlock’s word. He was studying and documenting everyone in the facility with what little equipment he had. At first people had been aggressive towards him to the point of violence, but then they’d realized that he might actually be able to help him and had practically stormed his cubical to offer themselves up for study. John included, which prompted an emotional outburst from both of them that included Sherlock pulling John flush against him, sucking a hickey into his neck, and rubbing his huge, hard cock against him. They both broke apart looking horrified.

“That wasn’t… I’m not…” Sherlock waved to his obvious erection, made more obscene by the size and the fact all the men and women effected in such a way had to sew new fronts onto their trousers to accommodate their frequent gigantic erections.

“You sure look it,” John replied, pulling away in confusion, “I’m not by the way. Ass completely dry. I’m with Greg and it’s _staying_ that way.”

“Bloody hell, I _want_ it to! I’m not aroused, John. It’s completely involuntary! So was… that thing I just did!”

“Tell that to my boyfriend when he sees a hickey on my neck that _he didn’t put there_!” 

“You really think he’ll be able to tell amongst the mess of others you have?” Sherlock sneered, “You’re _covered_.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” John snapped, “Just because I’ve got a fucking uterus now doesn’t mean I’m a slut for sleeping with my own boyfriend!”

“It wouldn’t mean you were if you’d _always_ had one,” Sherlock snapped, “I’m not condemning sex or sexual promiscuity! I’m just… I’m _jealous!_ ”

“I knew it!” John shouted angrily, “You can’t have me! I’m with _Greg_. Fuck, I can’t even be away from him for five minutes without feeling _needy_!”

“Don’t you think I _know_ that?! I’m _craving_ you Omegas! Bloody _craving you!_ ” 

Sherlock flopped down on his cot and rubbed at his face, “This is unbearable John. I _need_ an Omega!”

“Well you can’t have me,” John sighed, resisting his urge to comfort Sherlock by _touching_ him… even if it was in a platonic way. He had to be careful now. Their bodies weren’t their own anymore.

“Don’t pull away from me, John,” Sherlock pleaded, “Lestrade doesn’t mind me touching you. I can’t lose you because of this.”

“I haven’t… I’m not…” John sighed in frustration and then shifted Sherlock’s feet out of his way to sit down on the cot, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You are. You’re pulling away from me. You don’t _look_ at me anymore. I need you to _look_ at me.”

“I’m looking right at you.”

“You’re not looking _at_ me, though. You’re just staring through me. John. Please,” Sherlock tugged him close, mouth going to his neck again, and a shiver went through them both, “ _Why_. Why have an urge to mark you? Claim you. You’re not mine. I don’t even want you. This… blood flow issue… has no arousal linked to it. No drive for sex. Just a need to rub my scent all over you, to show you I _could_ breed you if I wanted to. Yet I want you with Lestrade. It’s a driving force inside of me. I would kill- literally kill- anyone who tried to take you from Greg.”

“Well that’s comforting,” Greg stated with a snort, making them both jump and look up, “Considering you two are practically making out.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” They both snapped, separating quickly. 

Lestrade walked into Sherlock’s cubicle and sat down in between them, shifting their hips in both directions.

“Look. This is weird. It’s really weird,” Greg stated, “I’ve got these weird feelings and just… weird is the word for it all. We’re in it together, though. So. Let’s focus on that. Sherlock, we’re following your lead here. What do we do?”

“I need information. More. Most people here seem to have branched off into small groups, forming unrelated family units. Packs if you will,” Sherlock stood up and paced anxiously, “A fitting term since we seem to be regressing to an almost animalistic response system.”

“So who’s the head of this pack?” John asked. They all dropped silent and Sherlock stilled. 

The moment stretched out and John felt the tension rising. Something pungent and musky caught his nose and he gasped, his body clenching in a reaction he now recognized. It was the new part of his body shifting. According to x-rays his appendix had mutated into a womb, connecting to his bowels via a strong muscle similar to a cervix. Except when it opened, right at the first curve in his rectum, the rest of his bowels were shut down. Lubricant flowed out of that new orifice and flooded his trousers. 

“Oh gods. No. Not again!” John gasped. 

Lestrade and Sherlock charged each other. The sounds they made were animalistic; snarling and growling as they made every attempt to get teeth to neck. John tried to pull them off of each other but both paused, gave him a wild stare, and shouted **DOWN!** John’s knees hit the ground and he let out a distressed sound that felt as if it were coming from his very being. All around him feet pounded the floor. They were coming. Responding to his cry for help. Every damn Alpha in the building was headed right for them. 

XXX

Mycroft walked calmly down the streets. It was important to maintain calm. It was necessary to remember that the people around him- both pedestrian and commonwealth- required him to be the symbol of the British nation. Which was why when he got the text that Sherlock had been harmed he only sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he contacted Anthea who drove him to the hospital Sherlock had been transferred to. 

D.I. Lestrade was there as well, and John was demanding to see him but they were keeping him out of the room.

“Look, he’s my _Alpha_ , you get that? It’s as good as marriage!”

“Not legally it isn’t,” The nurse argued, “Only family visitors due to the Plague.”

“It’s not a fucking plague! I’m already infected! Just let me see my Alpha!”

“No. Go home or I’m calling the police Plague John.”

“STOP CALLING ME PLAGUE JOHN! I DIDN’T FUCKING START THIS! IT’S BEEN AROUND FOR 200 YEARS!”

“John,” Mycroft spoke softly into a pause for breath, causing the man to turn sharply, “Let me handle this. My brother’s partner _will_ see him now.”

John didn’t say anything as Mycroft took John’s arm and led him into the room containing both Lestrade and Sherlock. John let out a gasp of relief, jerked free, and ran to… Lestrade’s side? There he snatched up his uncasted arm and pressed kisses to his hand before leaning forward and pressing more kisses to his face and mouth.

“Mmm,” Lestrade purred, “Guess I’m all better now.”

“Shut up,” John scolded, “You wanker.I’m so fucking sorry. If I hadn’t made that sound all those others wouldn’t have come over. I don’t even know why I did. I don’t know why I didn’t just pull you two off of each other.”

“Listen to me,” Greg growled, “I don’t want you coming between two Alphas ever again.”

“Greg, fuck’s sake, this shit about Omegas. You’re treating me like _property_.”

“I _mean_ it, John,” Greg snarled, “I’m not trying to patronize you…”

“The fuck you aren’t!” John pulled away in frustration.

“Dr. Watson,” Mycroft growled, “Had I realized that you were leaving my brother for D.I. Lestrade I wouldn’t have granted you access to their rooms. Get out. Now.”

“I’m not leaving him,” John snapped, “I was never with him. Greg knows full well if we get serious he has to move into 221B with us. Sherlock and I won’t be parted. And I’m sure as hell _always_ going to come in between them if they’re fighting! I love them both!”

“Shut up,” Sherlock groaned, “I’m in fucking _pain_. Drug history my ass.”

“It’s your own fault they’re denying you medication,” Mycroft replied, “However, I have made a call and you should be supplied with something _non addictive_ soon.”

“Thank goodness,” John sighed, “He’s a right bastard when he’s in pain.”

Mycroft watched in confusion as John headed over to Sherlock, fussing with his bedding and petting his curls. He treated him like a child and Sherlock ate it up, clearly content with whatever _strange_ relationship _that_ was. 

“Well,” Mycroft sighed, “Since you’re not on your deathbed and I’d rather be elsewhere I think I’ll take my leave. The three of you are welcome to return to your homes after this is done with. You’ve all been cleared. Good day.”

XXX

“Mycroft,” Sherlock spoke into the phone carefully, “How are you feeling?”

“Dear gods, I’m dying, aren’t I?” Mycroft asked in alarm.

“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’ve called instead of texting me, you’re minding your sharp tongue, you’ve asked me how I’m _feeling._ Therefore it is clear that I am dying. How long do I have? Time enough to put my affairs in order?”

“You’re not _dying_ , Mycroft,” Sherlock scoffed, “Though you may want to.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Betas. I’ve been testing them left and right and I keep coming up with the same results. The women have all developed a second appendix where their womb once was and the men… their testicles have shrunk and ceased to function.”

Mycroft was silent a moment, and Sherlock could hear his mind making peace with the situation, “I’ve experienced no noticeable shrinkage of yet, but my infection is recent.”

“I’ll look into a way to stop it, perhaps it isn’t too late.”

“If it is,” Mycroft spoke softly, “Than the family seat will belong to you and your heirs.”

“I’m _infected_ too!” Sherlock argued.

“That was no different before you called,” Mycroft reminded him gently.

“I have to go,” Sherlock sighed, “John’s on his way up.”

“Goodnight.”

Sherlock ended the call and tossed his mobile down onto his chair. John and Lestrade had moved into 221C, making crude jokes about the mold as they carted things downstairs; all professionals were busy working for the government to eradicate the A.B.O. molds so it was up to them to remove it. They spent most of their time up in 221B with Sherlock, which was just the way he wanted it. He could have John and Lestrade could keep him too.   
  


[CHAPTER 5](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/171159.html)


	5. vincentmeoblinn | Joined At The Hip Ch 5

 

Mycroft had never pulled so many strings in his life, especially since he didn’t even _know_ if she was really was alive. He had his suspicions, of course, but no actual proof and certainly no way to find her. Even if she was alive, what if she were an Alpha or Beta? So he had to convince someone she was alive, then convince them to send someone to look for her, then convince them that she needed to be brought back to England, then convince them (without letting her know) that the Queen was ready to pardon her in exchange for her agreeing to mate with Sherlock Holmes. She turned out to have been as clever as he’d hoped. They found her with a modified gas mask on, one of the few people in South America who were completely unaltered. 

“You’ve many crimes to answer for,” Eric growled out. Mycroft couldn’t conduct this interview. If she even saw him she’d figure it all out before they had a chance to break her. 

“Please,” She purred, “You wouldn’t bring me here for simply having past crimes. Not with the chaos of The Plague going on. How _are_ John and Sherlock?”

_Damn_ , Mycroft sighed, _Jig up already? Sherlock sure can pick them._

Mycroft stepped into the room, dismissing Eric and his plans to have her eating out of the palm of his hand before giving her to Sherlock ripe full of O spore… and soon to be ripe with Holmes babies. She might even manage to be the first Omega pregnancy, as it seemed no Omegas had gotten pregnant off of their ‘First Heat’ as the media had termed it once they found out that all Omegas were displaying hormonal cycles similar- but slower- than females once had. The theory that they would all go mad for sex again soon had Alphas salivating for a chance at them. Sherlock had so far discovered that there simply weren’t enough hormones in their first Heat, but it was only a matter of time before an Omega went off again and they’d see the full cycle. 

“Mr. Holmes,” Irene Adler purred, somehow managing to make a gas mask look sexy.

“Ms. Adler.”

“So what can I do for you? As you can see I’m mold free, no need for quarantine.”

“For now,” Mycroft sneered.

“You’re threatening me with lifelong mutation? Charming. Here I thought better of you.”

“You don’t look scared.”

“You don’t look frightening.”

Mycroft smiled. He had to admit it. Sherlock was smitten for a reason, though he still didn’t see the physical appeal. 

“Very well, let me explain how this works. You can either stay here in prison for the rest of your life- with your gas mask- paying for your crimes or…”

“Or?” She asked, raising a delicate eyebrow as she leaned back in her chair.

“Or you can willingly take in the O spores and marry Sherlock Holmes, and I _do_ mean for good, my dear. No killing him off or getting a bit on the side.”

Adler blinked, and then burst out laughing. She kept it up for so long that Mycroft began to worry about the oxygen levels in her mask.

“Oh gods!” She choked, blinking back tears, “That’s just… I had no idea you could _make_ jokes! Let alone execute them so…”

“Funny you should mention execution,” Mycroft cut in softly, “As I never _did_ specify how long you’d be alive.”

Adler’s laughter stopped, but instead of being afraid like he’d imagined she slowly and gracefully rose to her feet, planting her hands on the table to display a choreographed amount of cleavage. Good thing Mycroft was immune to sexual displays even before becoming a Beta.

“No.”

Mycroft smirked, “Then we’ll put you on the schedule for…”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Not particularly.”

“Because Sherlock Holmes has only _ever_ found me sexually attractive,” Adler replied, her words cutting like a knife, “So you aren’t going to kill me. Instead you’re going to keep me locked up for an indeterminate amount of time, until you realize I’m not going to give in, and then you’re going to release me. Only then will I go to your little brother. Then I will make a deal: w _ith him_. One that doesn’t involve whoring myself out or bartering for a man more deserving of respect than what you give him.”

Adler dropped back into her seat, her movements so flowing that she appeared to be sinking into water, and simply settled with her hands on her rouged knee. Mycroft swallowed. He knew when he’d been beat. The Woman was dangerous, but also necessary. Yet he couldn’t have her realize he was willing to give in so soon, otherwise she’d walk all over him for the rest of her natural life. Then he had a thought; A horrid, absolutely awful, wicked, and unforgivable plan. One worthy of Moriarty. 

_Well… perhaps the Omega hormones will settle her._

“Lock her up,” Mycroft stated calmly, “Take her mask and pump her cell full of O spores.”

“No!” Adler shouted, “I’ll go into Heat! I’ll go mad alone!”

“You’re already mad if you think you can manipulate the British Government,” Mycroft scoffed, “Perhaps you’ll go sane.”

“At least give me a toy!”

“Sorry, no,” Mycroft replied, pulling out his watch and checking it, “Only good girls get to play with toys. You’ll have water in abundance and nothing else.”

He waved his hand in a shooing motion and the guards snatched her up while she fought them admirably. Mycroft didn’t spare her a glance as they dragged her away. No one would be more shocked than that guard when her cell turned up empty an hour later, her mask hanging on the door with a lipstick kiss on the outside. Mycroft wouldn’t be shocked, not even a little bit, but he _would_ be impressed.

XXX

She was _there_. He’d been playing her song, more out of loneliness than anything else, and she had just appeared as if summoned. She was there with a smile on her lips and clothes on her body. He was more than willing to picture her naked, but he fought the urge down. She wasn’t just some random silly woman. She was _The Woman_. She deserved respect. 

“Go ahead,” She smiled.

“Go ahead and what?” Sherlock asked, lowering the bow of his violin. 

“Picture me naked.”

Sherlock shivered in desire. She was as yet unaffected from her scent, but that would change quickly seeing as how she was in the home of two Alphas and an Omega. With all that intense concentration of Alpha mold she’d likely turn Alpha as well.

“Now,” She flirted, “I’ve been thinking. I could spend some time sitting here listening to you play my sonata or-”

“It’s not a sonnet. It’s an opera. And it isn’t finished yet, so shame on you for listening in.”

“An Opera! Oh, how divine! Am I the heroine or the villain?”

“Both at once, but what was going to be behind that ‘or’ you left hanging?”

“ _Or_ ,” She teased, sinking into John’s chair and folding her long legs up, her shoes abandoned on the floor, “You can give me a straight dose of O. I’m sure you have one, being you.”

“Of course I have, but what are your conditions?”

“Equality,” Irene purred, “I realize instincts play a huge part in these things, but I can’t be treated as a diminutive breeding machine. I’d rather die. I’d also rather not give up my ovaries in exchange for a penis and testicles. I’m rather fond of my lady bits. However, if the choice is be subservient or be an Alpha I know what I will choose.”

Sherlock put down his Stradivarius, strode across the room to the liquor cabinet, and poured out a scotch and a sherry. He picked up a sealed test tube full of powdery substance labeled O and returned to his chair. There he sprinkled a small amount of the powder into the scotch and handed it to her before holding up his sherry.

“To defying gender norms,” Sherlock smirked.

“I’ll drink to that,” She nodded.

_Clink_. 

Irene tossed her finger full of alcohol and mold back in one gulp, making a face at the texture. Sherlock sipped his sherry and then passed it to her. 

“Here. To wash out the taste.”

“I should like to scrub my mouth for a month!” She replied, but accepted the sherry and sipped it while Sherlock went to fetch himself a new drink. 

He joined her with two bottles of water instead of alcohol.

“Trying to keep your head,” She smiled, “I know. I can be overwhelming.”

Sherlock smiled softly, “The effects of the mold aren’t widely known, at least not the initial ones, so your ignorance is forgivable. You will soon be in a great deal of pain and then…”

“Then?” She asked, worry in her eyes.

“Then you will be in a great deal of something else. You should drink some water. Quite a bit of it.”

She frowned but accepted the second bottle of water while Sherlock stood and stretched a moment, “The Heat? I’ve heard of that. What has it got to do with water?”

“I’m going to go make preparations,” Sherlock replied, “You’ll be incapacitated for quite some time. Do try to relax until then. Sleep if you can. I’ve put some pain killers in that Sherry which should take the edge off.”

With that Sherlock headed for his bedroom and set about barricading the windows. He texted John and Lestrade, proudly explaining that he’d found an Omega and would be indisposed for a while. His congratulations were forthcoming from Lestrade, but John was still on a tangent about Omegas being equal to Alphas so he didn’t reply. Sherlock knew that at an intellectual level they were equals (at least most were equal to each other if not to Sherlock) but their physical differences spoke volumes. That didn’t mean they should be treated differently, however. Perhaps in a society that was as wild as their instincts, but this was the age of mental stamina. Omega had no reason to be closeted away. He was currently working on ways to hold off their Heats or at least prevent pregnancy so they could have more control over their bodies, which equaled freedom for the shockingly fertile creatures. 

However, in the mean time he would have to keep poachers away from his beautiful Woman-Soon-To-Be-Omega. Bite marks that broke the skin on the gland on the back of her neck would put off a scent that discouraged others from snatching her up, but it would take time before Irene grow that gland. He’d have to cover her neck with love marks until then. 

Sherlock had just put the finishing touches on a nest any Omega would drench themselves for when Irene let out a distressed shout and raced to the bathroom. Sherlock hurried to his door to the head and opened it, finding her sitting on the toilet with her teeth clenched as her body evacuated all unwanted substances in preparation for the changes that were about to occur. 

“Go away! I can shit on my own!” She snarled through her teeth.

Sherlock ignored her. This was the part of it that Lestrade had missed, and many Omegas (without doctor’s degrees) still spoke of how awful it had been for them to wonder what was wrong as their body purged everything in their systems. Women especially had it rough as they would bleed at this time as well, a spontaneous period out of the blue, but all done and over with in under an hour as their reproductive system was forever altered. Sherlock walked forward, intending to sooth her with his Alpha scent as many had stated this was a welcome measure. Irene’s slapped him soundly, her nails intentionally raking him across the face.

“You _disobedient swine!_ ” She shrieked at him, managing to sit up and look more like a queen on a throne than a woman on a toilet, “I told you I wanted _equality_ , not pampering! If I want you to coddle me I’ll demand it! Now GET OUT!”

Sherlock fled the bathroom, giving her a contrite look over his shoulder, and smiled once he was in the safety of his own room. 

“ _The_ Woman,” He chuckled, “And what a woman she is! And what an Omega she’ll soon be.”

XXX

John and Lestrade had spent the last three days packing up Gregory’s apartment and moving him into John’s upstairs bedroom. It was a tight fit, but luckily John still didn’t own many things and Greg was willing to part with or store a good deal of his stuff. Finally they packed up the last box, put it in Greg’s car, and headed back upstairs to lock up and turn in the key.

“Hey,” Greg called after doing a final walkthrough of his old flat, “Hang on a sex.”

“Hang on a what?” John asked, a grin spreading across his face. 

“Tic.”

“Sex. You said sex.”

“Ahh, well that’s an easy segue,” Greg laughed at himself.

“So,” John turned to face his lover, moving into his personal space, “You’re looking to say goodbye to this place?”

“A bit, yeah,” Greg replied, “But I’m also just looking to get in your pants.”

John chuckled. They’d not been truly intimate since their first time together, though they’d kissed and slept in each other’s arms more often than not. John wasn’t sure what was holding them back. Thanks to Sherlock’s research they now knew that John was only fertile during Heats, and that it was perfectly normal for them to crave sex outside of that time. The first few days after their ‘Heat’ together they’d been too sore, then they’d been in lockdown with little privacy and Greg anxious as hell. Then they’d been living with Sherlock and Greg’s idea of intimacy had been to gnaw on his neck until he drew blood, which had prompted all sorts of experiments on John by Sherlock, which had made John cross, which had ended with Greg sleeping on the couch for a few nights. So now here they were, in a place familiar to Greg, and John hadn’t seen him look this relaxed since the hospital. It suddenly clicked that perhaps Greg felt just a bit threatened by Sherlock’s presence, perhaps due to the Alpha instincts that Sherlock and Greg kept insisting were why they treated John like an invalid now. 

John smiled softly and ran his hand over the rough skin around Lestrade’s jaw, feeling a part of his heart skip a beat at the tenderness in those eyes. 

“I never thought I’d have something like this,” John said before he could stop himself, then he flushed and looked down in shame.

“Don’t,” Greg whispered, tugging his chin up, “I’m in love with you, you berk.”

John laughed, “Hmm, those are the… seven? Yeah, the seven words I’ve always wanted to hear from a man.”

“Well, I’ll say them every damn day if you like,” Greg teased.

“This is a bit fast, yeah?” John asked in concern, “I mean, I know you buggered me for three straight- well gay- days just after our first date…”

Greg laughed, slipping his fingers into John’s belt loops and pulling him close, “I don’t care about fast. You killed for Sherlock in less than two days, remember?”

John pulled back in alarm but Greg pulled back, tugging him flush against his chest. His scent changed and John felt his mind calm. Scent triggers. Alphas could calm Omegas just by willing it. John was trying to figure out if he could do the same but hadn’t been successful just yet. Now he leaned into Greg and breathed in his scent with a contented sigh.

“How long have you known?” 

“Since that same night, from the look on Sherlock’s face. He’s smart but he’s got zero impulse control. I thought he was in love with you, that you were in love with him. I figured you’d better stick around because Sherlock needs that.”

“Except we weren’t,” John replied.

“I didn’t know,” Greg told him, leaning forward to trail his lips across the corner of John’s mouth, “If I had I would have done anything to have you.”

“You didn’t want to take me from Sherlock,” John whispered, as Greg slid his lips up to John’s ear.

“He’s been through hell and back, John,” Greg whispered, his breathe raising gooseflesh on John’s neck and arms, “I couldn’t do that to him. It’s been killing me for years. My wife knew. She hated you so much.”

John pulled back in alarm, “ _I_ ruined your marriage?”

“Fuck no,” Greg replied, snatching at his arms and pulling him against him again. This time John felt his erection hard against his stomach, “ _I_ ruined my marriage. And my wife thinking me having feelings for someone else was an excuse to cheat on me. I _never_ went behind her back. I’d have divorced her before so much as telling you how I felt.”

John relaxed a bit, “She knew, though.”

“Honesty,” Greg replied with a bitter smile, “Is the key to any relationship. Or at least that’s what I thought. I told her I had feelings for someone- for you- and she couldn’t get around it. I told her I’d be faithful, that you were spoken for anyway, but she couldn’t live with not being my one and only. Now you know why I couldn’t be angry with her; I drove her to it. Worst I know how she feels. It drove me crazy seeing you two together, knowing that I couldn’t have you.”

“I’d apologize, but it’s kind of your fault,” John replied with an attempt at a smile, “I did tell you we weren’t together a dozen times or more.”

“Yeah, but you _also_ said you weren’t gay.”

“Point,” John nodded, “So here we are. Took us long enough, I guess.”

“A bit, yeah. You still want to slow down?”

“No,” John replied softly, “I want you to fuck me until you don’t remember your ex-wife’s name.”

Greg’s expression turned confused, “I was married before you?”

John laughed.

“No, really, John,” Greg continued, pulling him in and starting to undo his clothes, “I mean… have I ever even _been_ with anyone besides you?”

“Nope,” John replied, undoing his buttons as well, “In fact we’re both fresh as virgins.”

“Oh, kinky,” Greg snickered. 

They kissed slowly, enjoying the drag of lips and tongues, John reveling in the feel of stubble against his skin. John felt hypersensitive in a way that had nothing to do with Heat and everything to do with the growing affection of the man pressing him slowly to the thick carpet. John arched his hips as his pants were slid down, moaning as his erection bounced against his stomach. 

“Beautiful,” Gregory whispered, and started to kiss down his chest.

“No. Umm… don’t,” John stammered, pushing him away and quickly rolling over. 

“What… Come on, I want to see your face.”

“Well, I don’t want you to see my cock,” John replied, burying his face in his arms and shifting his hips in what he hoped was a provocative way.

“What this?” Greg asked, laughing as he reached around to clasp him.

“Don’t,” John pushed his hand away, “Don’t touch it either.”

“What? Why?”

John groaned and rubbed at the back of his head while studying the grey fibers beneath his face. He’d never had a reason to be self conscious about _that_ part of his body and it was bothering him that he now was. 

“It’s sort of… shrunk.”

“So?” Greg snorted, “Mine’s the one you want to worry about, it’s fucking doubled in size.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing. I’m not in this for your _cock_ , I’m in this for your… well, your arse… but your personality, too.”

“Gee thanks,” John laughed.

“Roll over, yeah? It’s your eyes I wanna see, not how hung you are.”

“It’s just,” John rolled over, hand around his cock as he tried to work it back into action, “It’s just that it used to be decent, you know?”

“I think I remember,” Greg nodded, “Still don’t care.”

“It’s like I’m turning into a _woman_.”

“Luckily I’m bi,” Greg snickered, “Let me do that.”

John hesitated and then moved his hand, letting Greg’s strong hand wrap around his cock. The callouses took some getting used to, but he was soon hardening in his hand. He closed his eyes, trying to get back to where he’d been before his mind had started shaming him. Kisses and caresses covered him, and John found himself opening his eyes instead. Greg was above him, staring down at him worshipfully as he stroked he pumped John’s cock until it was aching. There was already a damp patch on the floor beneath his arse, and more was coming as Greg shifted his legs open. 

“Beautiful,” Greg breathed, “You smell like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Greg shifted down and ran his tongue through the thick fluid, moaning hungrily before asking John to hold his legs up. John propped them up and Greg spread his cheeks and went to town.

“Oh fuck,” John gasped, his cock leaking as Greg’s tongue teased his hole, pressing against his opening hole, “I’m… I’m ready…”

“I know you are,” Greg replied as he kneeled up again, “You’re open for me already. So fucking sexy how that works.”

John nodded, bracing his feet on the floor and putting his fists beneath his arse to give him some lift, “So come and get some, yeah?”

“Uh, uh,” Greg grinned, shaking his head, “I wanna finger you.”

“You don’t have to though,” John replied in confusion, but his head fell back when a finger slid into him.

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” Greg smiled, “I _want_ to.”

John was wrecked. Greg’s fingers were magic as they worked inside of his body. His prostate was further away now, so it was more of a tease than anything else; a tease that he _loved._ He moaned and rolled his hips, not wanting it to end even as he became more and more desperate to be filled. He clenched his jaw and growled in frustrated desire, panting through his teeth and digging his nails into the carpet beneath his bum. 

“If you don’t fuck me _now_ ,” John growled.

Lestrade didn’t need another prompt, he slipped his fingers out and pressed into him slowly. John gasped in surprise, somehow he’d expected it to be more like a woman now. He still needed to be stretched a bit apparently, but Gregory’s slow approach was working. It burned a bit, but then he felt the _pop_ of his head pushing through him and was able to breathe out and let his muscles relax.

“Too tight?” John panted.

Greg couldn’t speak. He just shook his head and pressed inside a bit more. His face was purple with tension, his breath ragged as he held himself up on his hands while staring down at where their bodies were joined. John wanted to see as well, but the angle was all wrong. He could see his cock leaking onto his belly and the thickening base of Gregory’s long, long member. 

“Oh gods,” John gasped, “All of that is going inside of me. Fuck. I need it. Greg!”

Gregory growned and pressed fully inside of him with one sharp thrust. His knot wasn’t fully engorged yet, but it was on its way there. They both cried out as John felt his cervix pressed against. It gave a bit, but since it was closed he only felt a bit of pressure rather than that mind-numbing stretch he’d felt during Heat. He _did_ feel that intense drive to be _filled_ still. As if he didn’t have enough with a ten inch cock in his arse!

John groaned as Gregory began to pump into him, hips moving fast, but it was harder to satisfy a cock that huge. He wasn’t getting the sensation he needed and they both saw his frustration.

“You’re gasping when you’re futher in,” John panted, “The knot.”

“Yeah,” Greg groaned, “It’s not there yet.”

John nodded, and then threw his legs up to wrap them around Greg’s waist. His Alpha moaned hungrily and his hips began to snap faster and harder. The knot swelled and his body resisted it’s entrance. John grinned and Greg gave him a predatory smile. One hard thrust and they both cried out, John from pain and Gregory from pleasure. Then that thick nodule of flesh rubbed against his prostate and John was rolling his hips to meet his lover’s gyrations. 

“Oh gods! Oh fuck!” Greg cried out.

John was beyond words. The slide of the man’s huge shaft inside of him was nothing short of euphoric. His p-spot was on fire inside of him and he was barely able to breathe as he rolled into his first orgasm. 

“Yes!” Gregory responded to his clench, and then bit down on his shoulder as fluids began to pump into him. 

John marveled as he actually _felt_ his huge bollocks clenching over and again, rubbing against the swell of his arse. John shifted his hands out from under him, using his legs to hold him against Gregory’s body, and reached down to cup those huge orbs. Gregory threw his head back and screamed as he rolled into a second orgasm. John whimpered, the pleasure aching as his body sought another release, but Gregory had stilled for a moment. The man gasped a few times and then began to rock into him again. John let out a low moan and came across his belly again. 

“Gorgeous,” Greg panted, “Come for me, you glorious man.”

John needed a bit of help this time around. While Greg grunted and mindlessly chased another release John wrapped his hand around his prick and began to stroke himself fast and hard. His lover was dripping sweat onto him and the scent was making him salivate. He wanted to do something he hadn’t thought of before. He wanted to _bite_. Suddenly John was wrestling for control, his cock forgotten in his urge to sink his teeth into Gregory’s flesh. Greg snarled and fought him back, pinning his shoulder down and pressing into him harder, rolling his hips violently until sparks flew behind John’s eyes as he was overstimulated. John cried out in pleasure… and then a thought occurred to him. He changed the pitch of his cry, imitating the sound he’d made when Greg and Sherlock had been fighting. Gregory froze, his eyes wild as he snarled angrily at whatever threat had made his Omega call for help. Realizing it was _himself,_ he leaned down and crooned softly, pressing his neck to John’s face in order to give him the soothing scent his lover needed to calm down. 

John grinned and sank his teeth into Gregory’s neck. The man stilled with a gasp, but John hadn’t found the spot he wanted. He released him and bit down again, finding something hard and pressing down until blood and a spicy fluid filled his mouth. It scalded his tongue and he swallowed it down greedily, following the burn down his throat and into his stomach. He moaned and pleasure washed through him similar to an orgasm but somehow different. He went limp beneath Greg, vaguely aware of his Alpha climaxing again above him. He fondled his cock weakly, but he’d gone soft. It felt like too much so he stopped. He was satisfied anyway. Greg lay over him, panting as he tried to get a handle on what had happened. He tested their link and found he wasn’t going anywhere until that knot unclenched.

“You… you okay?” Greg asked.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Fucking great.”

“You look like a murderer. You’ve got my blood all over your mouth.”

“I want to have your babies,” John grinned up at the ceiling.

“Lost your fucking mind,” Greg chuckled, “Sure, let’s have kids.”

“M’kay. Can we wait till I wake up?”

“Sure.”

[CHAPTER 6](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/171557.html)


	6. vincentmeoblinn | Joined At The Hip Ch 6

 

When Irene finally emerged from the bathroom, still wet from her shower, she stomped right up to Sherlock and slapped him soundly across the face.

“That _hurt_!” She shouted at him.

Sherlock frowned, touching his face lightly, “I _did_ warn you.”

“Well?” She asked.

“Well what?”

“Are you just going to bend over and _take that_ from me?” She asked, “Because if so I’ve got a 25 cm strap-on with your name on it!”

Sherlock’s eyebrow raised, “You’re attempting to engage me in a BDSM styled relationship, but to my knowledge _you_ are dominant. I am unaware of how to respond without treading on your pride.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re no slouch yourself, you know. You’d make a hell of a Dom, darling.”

“I want to be your life partner,” Sherlock replied with a shrug, “For that I’ll submit if necessary.”

“Oh darling,” Irene sighed, “No wonder you didn’t respond to my advances last time. There’s more to powerplay than just Tops and Bottoms, Sherlock. Yes, I’ve exclusively Topped my clientele, but for special people- for _truly special people_ \- I can and will bottom. You have to earn it. Can you, Sherlock? Can you _earn_ my submission?”

Sherlock swallowed hard at the heat in her eyes, “I hardly know where to begin. Slapping you back seems garish.”

“So it would be at this point. It’s a bit off for me to be your mentor _and_ your sub, but we’ll make it work. A sub must be punished the moment they step out of line, at the very least by being told what their punishment will be later should you be in a place where punishing isn’t possible.” 

“I’d rather not punish you at all,” Sherlock frowned, “I’m not comfortable with this.”

Irene cocked her head to one side and thought a moment, and then smiled softly. 

“You’re right. This is all wrong. It doesn’t suit who we are. We’re both quite dominant, so why fight that?”

“Why define it?” Sherlock added, “Why make it something _linear_ when it can be something so much more.”

“Now you’re catching on. Very well. I’m not your sub, but you’re not mine either. We’re each other’s playthings.”

“Intriguing,” Sherlock replied, cocking his head to one side, “How would that work?”

“Like this,” She replied, and grabbed his hair forcefully to pull him down for a kiss.

Sherlock’s arms went around her slim waist, pulling her tightly against him. He was hard and achingly aroused but her Heat hadn’t kicked in just yet. This was the lull before the storm and a perfect time to indulge in each other. When her leg came up around his waist he ran his hand down her taught arse to grip that thigh and press it firmly against him. He moaned into the kiss, his want overwhelming him. He’d so rarely indulged in the physical, and never with another person. His head was swimming. He wanted to lay down and let her take over, but the Alpha in him was rising to the surface. It wanted her passive and offering her body to him. Before he quite knew what was happening he had her pinned to the coffee table and was biting at her neck, marking it for other Alphas to see.

“Yes!” She cried out, writhing beneath him. 

Her motions ground her womanhood against his hard cock, driving him to pant with desire but he knew it wasn’t time yet. Instead he focused on overwhelming her with his Alpha scent, concentrating on bringing up his powerful aroma.

“Your neck,” She gasped, “It’s so…”

She bit down on the gland on his neck, hard enough to draw blood in one go rather than the sloppy attempts made by Lestrade when he first marked John. An overwhelming sense of pride filled him and he moaned, pressing a hand to the back of her neck to encourage her as she sampled his blood and the oil flowing from the gland. To think she hadn’t had her first heat yet but was already behaving like a proper Omega! It was a shame that she didn’t have her gland just yet so that _he_ could mark _her_. In due time. Probably just before their heat ended her gland would grow in, but reproduction of the species seemed to be of more importance to the mold than whatever strange chemical (mutated oxytocin?) was released during a marking. 

Irene released his neck, lapping at it hungrily and Sherlock took the opportunity to hoist her up. She clung to him like a limpid as he walked her back to his bedroom to throw her down on the bed. She bounced and then wriggled in the nest, rolling about to get her scent everywhere.

“Oh, Sherlock! Silk! Oh, you wonderful thing!”

Sherlock smirked and fetched his riding crop from his dresser. 

“Care to show me how to properly wield this on a _living_ person?”

“A living… do I even want to know?” Irene asked with a laugh.

“Mm, only that it’s been sterilized.”

“The poor leather! Come here then. And lose those clothes.”

Sherlock tossed the crop onto the bed and started stripping while Irene fetched something from the other room. It turned out to be a drawer full of kitchen utensils. Considering the chemicals and other odd things he used them for Sherlock was relieved to see it was the drawer labeled ‘FOOD ONLY’. He’d have to replace them or John would turn feral with rage. Apparently this was now the sex kitchen utensil drawer. Well, they had plenty of drawers, no reason to limit them to ‘food’ and ‘experiments’.  

“Do _I_ want to know?” Sherlock asked.

“Eventually,” She winked, “For now you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Seeing as how I belong to you now,” Sherlock replied, fondly stroking the tacky wound at his neck, “I think that can be arranged.”

“Very well then. On your knees on the bed and put your hands behind your head.”

Sherlock complied, his eyes glittering with excitement. Irene walked around the bed, getting a feel for the room, before bringing her hand down on his bum. Sherlock frowned and she tutted, scolding him for being impatient. Her hand came down on the other cheek. Without warning she gave him five sharp slaps on each cheek, not bothering to alternate and give them time to cool off. ‘Warming him up’ for something more painful. She walked around to his front and climbed on the bed. 

“So that’s an Alpha cock. I’ve heard stories but you’re the first I’ve seen. I honestly thought it was bunk, but here it is. Huge and hung, with that odd shape to the base. It really swells? How big? No, don’t answer. I want to find out when you’re inside of me. Now, then. There are a several ways to wield a crop,” She told him, teasing his chin with the clapper, “You can stroke, tap, flick, snap, and strike. This is a stroke obviously, and this…”

She flicked his nose with the edge of the clapper, scraping his skin deliciously, “Flick.”

“Not so fond of that,” Sherlock frowned, wriggling his nose.

“Fair enough,” Irene nodded, “I wouldn’t let a sub decide that unless it were a definite hard stop, but you and I don’t play by those rules. How’s this? A tap.”

She gave several teasing, repeated taps to his nipples and Sherlock’s cock responded for him, twitching and throbbing obviously while Sherlock struggled to catch his breath. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t a caress either. His nipples quickly budded up and she smirked at his reaction. She finished it off by gently but quickly pulling back the crop and letting it snap down hard over one of his sensitive nubs. Sherlock let out a startled shout and Irene giggled.

“A snap, obviously,” She told him, “Not to be overused as it isn’t very subtle and has a habit of damaging a perfectly good crop over time.”

Sherlock was panting as she snapped the crop over the other nipple. 

“I’m ready for a proper strike now,” He told her, his voice strained.

“You think so? Perhaps.”

Irene stood on the bed, walked off the edge, and turned to bring her arm down sharply on the mattress. The crop hissed though the air and hit the mattress with a satisfying thud. 

“That would be the _wrong_ way to wield a crop. You’re hitting too much with the handle and not enough with the crop. Now this would be the correct way.”

She flicked her arm out in a fluid motion, bringing the clapper down on the mattress. Even on a soft surface it let out a _crack_ that made Sherlock shudder, his biceps flexing anxiously.

“Shall I?” She asked.

“Yes,” He nodded decisively. 

“Hmmm, no.” 

“What?” He asked in surprise.

“You’ve felt my crop strikes before. We’re trying something _new_ today.”

With that she walked behind him and Sherlock resisted the urge to turn his head. He wanted to be surprised. It turned out it was the whisk she used first, stroking it down along his spine, twisting it slowly to tease his flesh. She bounced it off of his buttocks teasingly a few times and then brought it down on him hard. He gasped as it stung his skin. 

“Such a pretty pattern! Still… not what I’m looking for. Hmmm. Kitchens are just _full_ of fun things to use. Like corn kabobs.”

Sherlock stiffened in alarm as she ran something sharp down his spine. She poked him with it here and there, making him twitch but not pressing hard enough to draw blood. 

“How do you feel about piercings?” She asked, reaching around him with her breasts pressed to his back. She ran the sharp end of the tiny skewer across his nipple. 

“That they should be discreet and professionally administered,” Sherlock replied sharply.

“Spoil sport. Ah well. So much more here to play with.”

She left and made a point of noisily rooting around in the drawer until his muscles bunched. Then she brought something down on his arse that had him toppling forward in shock. He locked over his shoulder at her holding up the small wooden cutting board with a wicked little grin on her face.

“I think I’m in love with you,” He stated plainly.

“You _think_ you are?” 

“It’s difficult to tell being a fairly new emotion. You evoke heightened release of oxytocin and testosterone in my system along with urges to protect and touch you. I’m also interested in holding you close and smelling you.”

She shrugged, “Might be love. It’s good enough for now. Back on your knees or you’ll regret it,” Irene singsonged.

Sherlock grinned and hurried up on his knees again, bracing them further apart. He could see her wielding the board like a bat in the reflection of the picture above his bed. He grinned, closed his eyes, and moaned at the sharp crack. Three more and he felt like his arse was on fire. Each strike made something deep inside of him quiver as endorphins flooded his system. Irene stopped and he glanced over, his body trembling with desire and pain.

“Done?” He asked, unashamed of the crack in his voice.

“For now,” She smiled, and crawled onto the bed to kneel in front of him with her back towards him, “Remove my towel.”

“Mmm, with pleasure,” Sherlock purred, giving the towel a tug and watching it drop to the ground. 

She was like a mural, his perfect Omega with her heart shaped ass and perky tits. He reached around to cup his hands over her bosom, moaning at his first touch. How long had he fantasized about this moment? How many times had he tossed himself off, an unusual activity for him, with the thought of these warm orbs in his hands? Before he knew it he was slowly rutting his cock between her arsecheeks while fondling them relentlessly. She chuckled at him and turned to show him how to manipulate nipples by demonstrating on his own. Sherlock wasn’t sure how much more he could take as his nipples developed an intense connection to his cock. When he turned his ministrations to her it was with a feeling of relief as he was on the edge of embarrassing himself. 

The feel of her nipples in his mouth was glorious, the texture a tease to his senses as much as the taste of her body was a salve on his soul. She gasped and quivered beneath him, moaning and arching up into his body. He ran his hands over her and marveled at the feel of her smooth skin and perfect curves. He spent a moment studying her and memorizing the feel before determining exactly which position she’d be able to hold for a lengthy amount of time. Then he fetched some rope and told her to turn around and lie down on her back.

“Legs up and over… just like that…” Sherlock tugged her legs over until her knees nearly rested on her shoulders. Then he tied her ankles to the posts of the headboard, promising himself he’d buy a bed with better situated posts in the future to make this easier. 

Sherlock stepped back and admired his work. Her arms were stretched out on the bed, her arse in the air with her quim exposed. She was perfectly shaved and waxed, her arsehole bleached to match the rest of her skin. Her clit was so big that he could see it peeping out from between the folds of her vulvae. He wanted to lap at it, especially since he could see clear fluids already gathering there. Would they be heat fluids? A delicate sniff told him no. Not yet. Basic arousal. He could spend some time enjoying her a bit longer. He ran his hand over her arse, admiring the way her hipbones shaped her arse into two points from this position. She was glorious. 

“Comfy?”

“Yes, actually,” She smiled, “Perfectly exposed but in a position that allows me to hold it for long periods of time. You’d think you’d done this before.”

“Mm, you’re balanced on your shoulders. Elementary, really.”

Sherlock searched the drawer for a tool to use on her arse and smiled as he pulled out the rolling pin. From this position it could cause major damage if swung, but he could still enjoy a bit of sensation play with her. He knelt behind her and rolled it over her bottom, making sure it teased her cunt. It acted as a type of massage as he ran it over her thighs and each calf. She sighed and relaxed. Perfect. Without warning he pinched her back sharply with the tongs he’d carefully snuck over. 

“Ouch!” She yelped, more in surprise than pain.

“Oh come on now,” Sherlock grinned, “That didn’t hurt.”

She smiled at her own silliness and wriggled a bit for more. He was more than willing to comply. He moved around her carefully, the bed a bit in the way, and snapped them down on her skin like little snake bites. She yelped, wiggled, and began to moan as the pain transformed into pleasure. Little red welts with a patterned edge appeared wherever he snipped her skin, making him hard once again. 

“I think I _like_ this!” Sherlock panted.

“Mmm, good,” Irene breathed, “Give me more, Sir.”

Sherlock gave her a sharp smack on the bottom with a metal spoon, “That’s _detective.”_

“Oh, I _like_ that. Yes _detective_ ,” She purred wriggling and flexing her glutes. 

Sherlock ran his hands over an exaggerated question mark on her back that was made to look like a magnifying glass, “A tattoo? Isn’t that a bit easily identifiable?”

“Serves as useful the next time I need to fake my death,” She panted, “And it reminded me of you.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” He nodded, “Though there _won’t_ be a next time.” 

She didn’t reply, but that was probably because he’d grabbed the crop and given her a harsh strike with it. She gasped, and writhed a bit, but her smile hadn’t vanished. He gave her two more strikes and then switched to gentle taps before surprising her with a snap. He grinned at his progress, running his hand over her reddened flesh. Welts were rising up and he was sure they’d become more since he was intending on keeping her going for longer. That was before he caught her scent changing. She smelled like that gorgeous, spicy scent from the hospital; the one that had driven him to fuck two Betas for days on end, leaving them whining in his grasp. Betas didn’t respond the same way to heat as Omegas did, so they’d been conscious the entire time. Only their need to keep Alphas and Omegas happy had kept them in bed with him. Yet they hadn’t been able to do the one thing he’d _truly_ needed. They hadn’t been able to take his knot. As such he’d climaxed perhaps four times in three days, tortured by the sound of Lestrade groaning out his orgasms every few hours not twenty feet away, and gotten far more chaffed than others had. 

Sherlock shook himself out of his reverie about three days of _satisfying_ sex and recalled that Irene had needs as well. He would have preferred a vibrator- easier and quicker- but he had nothing of the sort on hand and Irene had come sans supplies. So he would just have to use his unfortunately inexperienced tongue if he wanted her to feel pleasure before the next part of her Heat kicked in. 

“Feel free to give me instructions,” Sherlock stated, straddling her head and leaning forward to run his tongue over her slit.

“Oh, fuck! Umm, nice view, but… clitoris. Aim for the… I’m already so wet!”

Sherlock focused on the swollen nub, circling it three times before giving it a sharp flick with the tip of his tongue. She shook in her restraints, her legs jerking with the stimulation. Her hands flew up to grip his thighs, her breath hot on his heavy bollocks as her nails dug into his flesh. His hips shifted, his long cock prodding at her curved abdomen. _A bit of lube and I could fuck the folds her stomach has been forced into by the restraints… perhaps another time._

Irene gasped, whimpering and moaning, her breath gone throaty as she mindlessly rutted her mound against his chin. His nose was filled with her perfect scent, driving him wild, making him want to rip off the restraints. His Omega should be giving herself to him, not tied up and helpless. Hell, he wanted her to take him, to pin him down and ride his cock. No simpering submissive wench for him, oh no. She might bow down, but she would never give in and he _loved_ her that way. So much so that his tongue flattened and rubbed hard against her heat until she screamed out her climax, her legs rattling the headboard as she bucked against his mouth in wild pleasure. 

The second her breath turned from relieved to overwhelmed he pulled away from her and hurried to the footboards. With strength he’d had no idea he possessed he snapped the ropes at her legs. Her legs toppled down and she screamed as her body clenched and writhed against her will.

“Sherlock! Sherlock help! Help! It-it-it _hurts!_ ” 

There was a bit of awkward fumbling and scrambling. Irene’s orgasm had thrown her into full heat. Her thighs were drenched with her desire, her hands scrabbling for him. When he finally got on top of her his first thrust simply butted against her entrance. He flushed in humiliation at his inexperience only to be tackled by a snarling Irene. She gripped his cock tightly in one hand, which had his eyes rolling back as she inadvertently squeezed his knot perfectly, and pressed down onto him. It took an extra push, his cockhead being so large now, but then she was sliding down his shaft.

Irene’s eyes opened wide, a slow, open mouthed smile spreading across her lips, her tousled hair sticking to her damp face. Sherlock panted as he alternated between staring at the dawning bliss on her face and watching her sink down on him. When she was hovering over his knot he took to panting in desperation. 

“Irene!” He shouted.

“Yes, _detective_.”

“Damn it, move!”

“Mmm, not yet. I need this,” She sighed, her head rolling back on her neck as she shifted minutely on his cock, “So full. The pain’s finally gone. I feel like _a goddess_.”

“You are,” Sherlock breathed, shifting up hopefully.

She pulled up, looking down at him and raising an eyebrow as she tsked him, a finger twitching from one side to the other. 

Sherlock snarled and grabbed her hips, rolling them over. So began their fight for dominance as they wrestled on the bed. Sherlock would manage to pump his hips into her, but the moment he came close to getting enough momentum to bury his knot inside of her she would use his distraction of chasing his release to roll them over again. Then she’d roll her hips and grind his cock against the entrance of her cervix, now open the way a labouring woman’s was and just waiting for the head of his cock to pierce it and fill her completely. 

“Damn it Irene!” Sherlock howled as he bucked beneath her, clawing at her hips and leaving red stripes across her perfect skin.

“So pretty when you’re needy,” She breathed, and then lifted herself nearly off and plunged down hard.

They both screamed then, Sherlock with his eyes clenched shut as he howled out his release. His cockhead was held tight in her body, his knot squeezed by her muscles as she convulsed in the grip of her own intense orgasm. Pleasure surged through him, his bollocks tight and clenching. He rolled his hips, grinding his knot into her as pulse after pulse of hot seed left his body. When he could finally open his eyes it was to see her looking drunk as she sat on his cock, rolling her hips and whimpering as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her. She was going under. He pulled her against himself and then rolled them over, cradling her head in one hand and the soft swell of her buttocks in the other. 

“Yes, my love. There, my love,” He cooed, rolling his hips as their pleasure mounted once again. She began to thrash, grasping at him and crying out in anticipation, “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

“Sherlock,” She whispered, and lay limp beneath him as she slipped into the deep sleep of Heat. 

“Yes,” He breathed, “Yes, let me take care of you, love you, fill you. My Woman. My Mate. My other third.”

[CHAPTER 7 & EPILOGUE](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/171945.html)

  
 

**A/N** ****

_“My other third.” Anyone have an idea what he meant by that?_ __

Irene’s tattoo:  [ http://shard1.1stdibs.us.com/archivesE/upload/9430/01_14/question8/question8_l.jpg ](http://shard1.1stdibs.us.com/archivesE/upload/9430/01_14/question8/question8_l.jpg)

WARNING: VIRUS RISK The following link did not harm my computer, but as it is a porn site I must warn you that if your computer is NOT adequately protected- and even if it is- you may get a virus. This is the scene that inspired the one with Sherlock and Irene. I don’t normally include this sort of thing because I find written word more invigorating than visual, but this was so beautifully done I just had to share.   [ http://xhamster.com/movies/2896679/cropped_whipped_and_toyed.html ](http://xhamster.com/movies/2896679/cropped_whipped_and_toyed.html)


	7. vincentmeoblinn | Joined at the Hip Ch 7 and Epilogue

Credit for pic:  [ http://rule34.paheal.net/post/view/1299812#search=Irene_Adler ](http://rule34.paheal.net/post/view/1299812#search=Irene_Adler)

 

John knocked before entering his flat despite the fact that it was his own. After the text he’d gotten from Sherlock about having found a mate he’d figured a few days alone would be best. He and Lestrade had shacked up in a motel and spent the time exploring their new bodies. When Lestrade had suggested they marry he’d dressed in stale smelling clothes and followed him to the nearest alter with a giddy smile on his face. He’d thrown a bouquet of daffodils Greg had bought him at a passing couple while shouting “I’m Mr. Lestrade!” like a drunken, love-struck teen. Now he just had to break it to his best friend that he’d missed his wedding. 

His best friend who was on the floor in the sitting room, head resting on the stomach of… Irene Adler?

“Okay so… not dead,” John stammered, “Or dressed for that matter. I do still live here, yeah?”

“Of course,” Sherlock frowned at John from his position just north of Irene’s nether regions. Her ankles were propped up on the mantle of the fireplace. 

“So… clothes?”

“Why should we?” They both asked at once.

“Right. Yeah. Um… I got married, by the way. A day ago. Sorry you missed it just…”

“It better have been to Lestrade,” Sherlock replied, eyes narrowed, “You’ll not find a more perfect match for us.”

“No, it was Lestrade,” John nodded, “I guess I’m John Lestrade-Watson now.”

John grinned like a fool and Sherlock smiled warmly, “Good.”

“Congratulations. Where’s the groom?” Irene asked.

“Unpacking the last of his boxes from his car. He says we can’t use it for cases.”

Sherlock frowned but didn’t respond.

Greg came up the steps, glanced at them in amusement, shook his head, and nudged John to head upstairs with him.

“You see those bites on their necks?” Greg asked.

“Yeah,” John smiled, “Good for them. Will you… be more secure here now? Now that we’re bonded and so is Sherlock?”

“No,” Greg shook his head, “Not until I know where I stand with Sherlock.”

“How do you mean?”

“Pack, John,” Greg replied, “You don’t know what it’s like, being an Alpha.”

Greg walked up to John, his eyes wide and pupils dilating as he spoke, “Greg?”

“The _urge_ John. I have to make him submit to me.”

“Submit to you?” John asked, backing up as Greg’s pheromones amped up. He smelled like fire and smoke, “Sherlock will _never_ do that.”

“Then he’d better bring his A game, because eventually we’re going to fight it out and _this time_ you don’t get in the way.”

John swallowed. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Greg. Hell, even with his Alpha strength John was fairly certain he could kick Greg’s arse. The problem was that whenever Greg got angry he got so aroused his legs felt weak. He lifted his chin against his will, his blood pounded so hard he could barely hear, and the urge to whimper submissively powered through his brain pushing all other thoughts aside. Greg’s mouth latched onto his neck, suckling faintly, and he trembled despite the fact that he had been more than sated- in fact was _very_ sore from all the ‘sating’ they’d done. 

“Need you, John,” Greg purred.

“Need me?” John laughed, “You’ve got to be joking. I’m… shit, Greg, I’m fucked _raw_. I can’t. And there’s no way in hell I can suck you off, not with how big you are. Hell, I’ll get a fucking sprain trying to wank you, and you’re already tender from…”

“Don’t need sex,” Greg replied, his voice low and growling as he nipped at John’s ear.

“What then?” John asked. 

“ **Get down on your knees,”** Greg growled, and something in his voice made John gasp and shiver. He slid down the floor to his haunches and when Greg stepped back he moved quickly to his knees, “Perfect. Beautiful. Stay there.”

John sighed and let himself relax as Greg’s approval washed over him. It was so soothing. So satisfying on a completely different level than sex was. _This_ was what he’d been missing in other relationships, that feeling that the person could fix him the way Sherlock had fixed his limp. He’d compared everything to it, but now he had what he needed in Greg. He had no illusions that this was another A and O mold symptom, he’d certainly never enjoyed kinky play before, but he was going to take his thrills where they showed up. 

Greg sat down on their bed, the new one that was big enough for two, and watched John as his knees started to ache. It was an hour before he was allowed to stand and when Greg helped him to his feet he leaned against him and panted. 

“Good, John,” Greg purred, “You were so good. I feel so much better now. You’ve got me calm, see? Look how well you take care of me. My wonderful Omega. So obedient. I don’t have to worry about Sherlock if you’re so well behaved, now do I?”

John nodded against his shoulder, surprised at how tired and weak he felt after an hour of _kneeling_. Greg lifted him easily and carried him to the bed where he kissed him tenderly until he drifted off to sleep. 

XXX

They got on for a while. Sherlock and Greg tiptoed around each other, trusting each other with the safety of the other’s mate, but always on edge. John couldn’t piece it together. Greg never accused John of cheating or got in the way of Sherlock running off into the night with him, yet whenever they stepped too close to each other they started growling and only Irene and John playing submissive and needy would get them to separate. 

Then it all snapped. 

John woke up feeling off and headed downstairs to puke his guts out. While he was grumbling angrily at the toilet Sherlock wandered in and started sniffing at the doorway.

“What. Is. Wrong. With. You. Alphas?” John asked as he leaned over and sniffed at the toilet and then at John, “Sick. It smells like sick. So do I, for that matter.”

“You smell _good_.”

“Go stuff yourself.”

“You smell like… like…”

“Bile and half-digested food, yeah. I know.”

“No. Something… soft and warm? Kittens or… babies?”

“I don’t want to know how you know what _either_ of those smell like and the only thing soft and warm about me right now is my stomach. Go away before I puke on your feet.”

“John,” Sherlock stated softly, “Where is Lestrade?”

“Upstairs sleeping.”

“Go into my room and stay with Irene.” 

“Why?” John asked.

“Because I think you’re pregnant, and I have no idea how other Alphas- unmated Alphas- would react to you. All I know is my reaction is one that is… intense.”

“Intense how?” John asked, looking up in alarm. He wasn’t so sure he could take a feral Sherlock on.

“My room, John. **Now. _”_** **__**

John didn’t have to obey. He’d learned that early on. Alphas who ordered him who _weren’t_ his Alpha he could ignore now that he was bonded to Lestrade. He did as Sherlock ordered anyway, because some strange part of him was reeling at the idea of being pregnant and he very much needed another Omega nearby. He staggered into Sherlock’s bedroom, ignoring the startled look on Irene’s face, and sank down on their bed. 

“John?” Irene asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Sherlock says I smell pregnant.”

“Oh, darling,” Irene cooed, “Come here.”

John let his head fall into Irene’s lap and shook, curled up in a ball with both hands to his abdomen. Pregnant. The world’s first pregnant man. _Not man. Omega. I’m not a man anymore. That shouldn’t matter, but it_ does _. I’ve lost a part of myself, a part of my identity, and now I’m going to be a MOM. How the hell does that work? Where will it come out of? Oh fuck I’m going to shit a baby out._

From upstairs came a loud angry roar and then a thud. John and Irene stiffened but this time they didn’t interfere. By unspoken agreement they understood that Sherlock and Greg had to work out whatever was between them before John gave birth. The tackling continued and Irene gently pressed her hand over John’s ear to block out part of the sound, but he pushed it away. He was scared, but he didn’t need to be coddled. He could follow the pattern of their fight, but not which footstep belonged to the other. He only knew that one was overpowering the other. Then there was stillness. John was off the bed like a shot, Irene hot at his heels. They reached his bedroom to find Greg pinned to the floor with Sherlock rutting his hard, thankfully clothed, cock between his bare arsecheeks. Greg was hard as well, but instead of fighting or moaning sensually he was growling softly. Sherlock had his mouth to Greg’s neck and was suckling on it, as he continued to mark his throat Greg’s growls changed to soft croons. Both men relaxed, their pricks softening, and Greg rolled over to press soft kisses to Sherlock’s lips.

“Good,” He said softly, “I’ll be good.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, his voice breathy, “You will. Good to me, good to John, and good to your child.”

John stood there, trying to figure out what he’d just seen. He glanced at Irene to see her equally confused. Infidelity? Was that even possible when they were ‘pack’? Sherlock hadn’t interfered in Irene’s ‘business’, so his definition of fidelity wasn’t the same as John’s. Hell sometimes Sherlock _joined in_ on Irene’s client flogging. Not that it was sexual anymore, of course, but it wasn’t what John would call _monogamous_ either.

Sherlock climbed off of Lestrade and gave them an alarmed look, “That… that wasn’t what it looked like.”

John folded his arms; “You just told me to go to your bedroom with your _wife_ and then came up here to dry hump my husband and baby daddy. So if it wasn’t what it looked like what was it?”

“ _Baby daddy?_ ” Greg asked, and then scrambled up and crossed to John, “What is he… oh fucking hell.”

Greg snatched John up, pulling him hard against his body, breathing in his scent as if it were a drug. 

“Um, a bit angry here!” John snapped, pushing at him.

“Oh gods you smell like cake and sunshine and fucking _life_.”

“Yeah, still not thrilled about the dry humping!” John shouted, shoving at him again.

“I think I get it,” Irene stated. That threw them off and they looked at her in confusion, “It’s like two dogs. You were dominating each other and one of you… well…”

“Ended up on top,” Sherlock finished with a nod, “The Alpha Alpha, as it were.”

“So you’re the pack leader,” John replied, snuggling into Greg as he set about making those soothing sounds that never failed to make John want to crawl all over him.

“Apparently, yes,” Sherlock nodded, then walked over to John and quite casually suckled on his neck while Greg snogged John senseless. Then he simply walked out of their bedroom with Irene on his heels, leaving them to topple into bed and fuck for ages.

XXX

John was fascinated by the interaction. When he’d had his baby he’d let Sherlock hold him without hesitation, not even questioning that their pack Alpha would be allowed to hold his child. Yet now that Irene sat there on Sherlock’s bed- hospitals were out of the question- holding her child, the second Greg stepped Sherlock went instantly feral. Sherlock was allowed to hold her, but that was it, and he kept instinctively licking her neck. John understood her reaction. No other Alphas were allowed near his son Ben. He did wonder how long they’d be so protective, but that was where his concerns ended. If his instincts told him to keep his baby away from Alphas, well fuck anyone who was insulted. 

Five weeks later he was relieved to find that Sherlock acted normal when they were together without the babies present. He’d missed his friend during their long pregnancies, and the childbirth within four weeks of each other had been stressful on everyone. As it was they were now able to laugh and joke together, Sherlock ribbing John as he always had and John telling him off for being his usual asshat self. They went on cases and Greg trusted Sherlock to bring John home in (relatively) one piece. Sometimes Sherlock had to subdue Greg when he got overprotective, usually close to John’s heats, but overall they were adjusting well to a life as AO infected couples. From what John had heard only a few islands and the southern half of Africa had avoided infection by the mold, and stigma was well on it’s way to dying out. 

Their friendship had survived. The friendship that meant more to John than life, and nearly as much as his beautiful son. Sherlock still shocked and amazed him at every turn. He was still a pompous consulting detective arse and John was still his military doctor blogger. He was just an Alpha pompous consulting detective arse with the occasional riding crop bruise on him from his Omega wife. And John was just his Omega military doctor blogger who was also the first man to ever give birth to a child out his bum. They were still inseparable and utterly devoted to each other. After all, they were pack.

Some adlock porn cause it’s hard to find:  [ http://rule34.paheal.net/post/list/Irene_Adler/1 ](http://rule34.paheal.net/post/list/Irene_Adler/1)

 

 


End file.
